[table=461,#ffffff,#e36c09,3][tr][td] [align=center][attachment=11778037][/align][/td][/tr][tr][td]
[color=#e36c09]The Age of Innocence (1920) is a novel by Edith Wharton, which wonthe 1921 Pulitzer Prize.The story is set in upper-class New York City inthe 1870s.[/color][color=#e36c09][/color]
[color=#e36c09]In 1920, The Age of Innocence was published twice; first in fourparts, July – October, in the Pictorial Review magazine, and then by D.Appleton and Company as a book in New York and in London.[/color][color=#e36c09][/color]
[color=#e36c09]The book was warmly received; the Times Book Review considered it "abrilliant panorama of New York's 45 years ago. The novel is in demandmostly at public libraries and a best seller in the bookstores." In1998, the Modern Library ranked The Age of Innocence 58th on its list ofthe 100 best English-language novels of the 20th century. In 2011, NewYork Magazine critic Sam Anderson named it "the single greatest New Yorknovel."、[/color]

[/td][/tr][/table]

[table=460,#ffffff,#e36c09,3][tr][td] [color=#e36c09]《纯真年代》的主要情节发生在19世纪70年代末80年代初的纽约上流社会。那是伊迪丝度过童年与青春的地方，她在那儿长大成人，进入社交界，订婚又解除婚约，最后嫁给波士顿的爱德华·华顿，并度过了婚后的最初几年。时隔40年后，作为小说家的她回顾养育过她也束缚过她的那个社会，她的感情是复杂的，既有亲切的眷恋，又有清醒的针砭。作家把那个时代的纽约上流社会比作一个小小的金字塔，它又尖又滑，很难在上面取得立足之地。处在塔顶，真正有贵族血统的只有二三户人家：华盛顿广场的达戈内特祖上是正宗的郡中世家；范德卢顿先生是第一任荷兰总督的嫡孙，他家曾与法国和英国的几家贵族联姻；还有与德格拉斯伯爵联姻的拉宁一家。他们是上流社会的最高阶层，但显然已处于日薄西山的衰败阶段。上流社会的中坚力量是以明戈特家族、纽兰家族、奇弗斯家族为代表的名门望族，他们的祖辈都是来自英国或荷兰的富商，早年在殖民地发迹，成为有身份有地位的人物。比如纽兰·阿切尔的一位曾外祖父曾参与过独立宣言的签署，还有一位曾在华盛顿部下任将军。正如阿切尔太太所说的，“纽约从来就是个商业社会”，占支配地位的是这些殷实的富商。处于金字塔底部的是富有却不显贵的人们，他们多数是内战之后崛起的新富，凭借雄厚的财力，通过联姻而跻身上流社会。作者从亲身经历与熟悉的环境中提炼素材，塑造人物，将作品题材根置于深厚的现实土壤中。尤其通过博福特命运浮沉这一线索与主人公爱情悲剧的主线相互映衬，使一个看似寻常的爱情故事具备了深刻的社会现实意义。[/color][/td][/tr][/table]
[table=457,#ffffff,#e36c09,3][tr][td][size=4][b][color=#e36c09] 作品评价[/color][/b][/size][/td][/tr][tr][td][color=#e36c09] 《纯真年代》被认为是伊迪丝·华顿结构技巧最为完美的一部小说。作家从自己亲身经历与熟悉的环境中提炼素材，塑造人物，将作品题材根置于深厚的现实土壤之中。尤其通过博福特命运浮沉这一线索与主人公爱情悲剧的主线相互映衬，使一个看似寻常的爱情故事具备了深刻的社会现实意义。在人物塑造方面，作家淡化人物社会行为、着力表现人物内心世界的尝试无疑是对现实主义创作手法的发展。而这一切使《纯真年代》成为一部经久不衰的杰作。[/color][/td][/tr][/table]

Chapter 1

On a January evening of the early seventies, Christine Nilsson was singing in Faust at the Academy of Music in New York. Though there was already talk of the erection, in remote metropolitan distances "above the Forties," of a new Opera House which should compete in costliness and splendour with those of the great European capitals, the world of fashion was still content to reassemble every winter in the shabby red and gold boxes of the sociable old Academy. Conservatives cherished it for being small and inconvenient, and thus keeping out the "new people" whom New York was beginning to dread and yet be drawn to; and the sentimental clung to it for its historic associations, and the musical for its excellent acoustics, always so problematic a quality in halls built for the hearing of music. It was Madame Nilsson's first appearance that winter, and what the daily press had already learned to describe as "an exceptionally brilliant audience" had gathered to hear her, transported through the slippery, snowy streets in private broughams, in the spacious family landau, or in the humbler but more convenient "Brown coupe" To come to the Opera in a Brown coupe was almost as honourable a way of arriving as in one's own carriage; and departure by the same means had the immense advantage of enabling one (with a playful allusion to democratic principles) to scramble into the first Brown conveyance in the line, instead of waiting till the cold-and-gin congested nose of one's own coachman gleamed under the portico of the Academy. It was one of the great livery-stableman's most masterly intuitions to have discovered that Americans want to get away from amusement even more quickly than they want to get to it. When Newland Archer opened the door at the back of the club box the curtain had just gone up on the garden scene. There was no reason why the young man should not have come earlier, for he had dined at seven, alone with his mother and sister, and had lingered afterward over a cigar in the Gothic library with glazed black-walnut bookcases and finial-topped chairs which was the only room in the house where Mrs. Archer allowed smoking. But, in the first place, New York was a metropolis, and perfectly aware that in metropolises it was "not the thing" to arrive early at the opera; and what was or was not "the thing" played a part as important in Newland Archer's New York as the inscrutable totem terrors that had ruled the destinies of his forefathers thousands of years ago. The second reason for his delay was a personal one. He had dawdled over his cigar because he was at heart a dilettante, and thinking over a pleasure to come often gave him a subtler satisfaction than its realisation. This was especially the case when the pleasure was a delicate one, as his pleasures mostly were; and on this occasion the moment he looked forward to was so rare and exquisite in quality that--well, if he had timed his arrival in accord with the prima donna's stage-manager he could not have entered the Academy at a more significant moment than just as she was singing: "He loves me--he loves me not--HE LOVES ME!--" and sprinkling the falling daisy petals with notes as clear as dew. She sang, of course, "M'ama!" and not "he loves me," since an unalterable and unquestioned law of the musical world required that the German text of French operas sung by Swedish artists should be translated into Italian for the clearer understanding of English- speaking audiences. This seemed as natural to Newland Archer as all the other conventions on which his life was moulded: such as the duty of using two silver- backed brushes with his monogram in blue enamel to part his hair, and of never appearing in society without a flower (preferably a gardenia) in his buttonhole. "M'ama . . . non m'ama . . . " the prima donna sang, and "M'ama!", with a final burst of love triumphant, as she pressed the dishevelled daisy to her lips and lifted her large eyes to the sophisticated countenance of the little brown Faust-Capoul, who was vainly trying, in a tight purple velvet doublet and plumed cap, to look as pure and true as his artless victim. Newland Archer, leaning against the wall at the back of the club box, turned his eyes from the stage and scanned the opposite side of the house. Directly facing him was the box of old Mrs. Manson Mingott, whose monstrous obesity had long since made it impossible for her to attend the Opera, but who was always represented on fashionable nights by some of the younger members of the family. On this occasion, the front of the box was filled by her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Lovell Mingott, and her daughter, Mrs. Welland; and slightly withdrawn behind these brocaded matrons sat a young girl in white with eyes ecstatically fixed on the stagelovers. As Madame Nilsson's "M'ama!" thrilled out above the silent house (the boxes always stopped talking during the Daisy Song) a warm pink mounted to the girl's cheek, mantled her brow to the roots of her fair braids, and suffused the young slope of her breast to the line where it met a modest tulle tucker fastened with a single gardenia. She dropped her eyes to the immense bouquet of lilies-of-the-valley on her knee, and Newland Archer saw her white-gloved finger-tips touch the flowers softly. He drew a breath of satisfied vanity and his eyes returned to the stage. No expense had been spared on the setting, which was acknowledged to be very beautiful even by people who shared his acquaintance with the Opera houses of Paris and Vienna. The foreground, to the footlights, was covered with emerald green cloth. In the middle distance symmetrical mounds of woolly green moss bounded by croquet hoops formed the base of shrubs shaped like orange-trees but studded with large pink and red roses. Gigantic pansies, considerably larger than the roses, and closely resembling the floral pen- wipers made by female parishioners for fashionable clergymen, sprang from the moss beneath the rose- trees; and here and there a daisy grafted on a rose- branch flowered with a luxuriance prophetic of Mr. Luther Burbank's far-off prodigies. In the centre of this enchanted garden Madame Nilsson, in white cashmere slashed with pale blue satin, a reticule dangling from a blue girdle, and large yellow braids carefully disposed on each side of her muslin chemisette, listened with downcast eyes to M. Capoul's impassioned wooing, and affected a guileless incomprehension of his designs whenever, by word or glance, he persuasively indicated the ground floor window of the neat brick villa projecting obliquely from the right wing. "The darling!" thought Newland Archer, his glance flitting back to the young girl with the lilies-of-the- valley. "She doesn't even guess what it's all about." And he contemplated her absorbed young face with a thrill of possessorship in which pride in his own masculine initiation was mingled with a tender reverence for her abysmal purity. "We'll read Faust together . . . by the Italian lakes . . ." he thought, somewhat hazily confusing the scene of his projected honey-moon with the masterpieces of literature which it would be his manly privilege to reveal to his bride. It was only that afternoon that May Welland had let him guess that she "cared" (New York's consecrated phrase of maiden avowal), and already his imagination, leaping ahead of the engagement ring, the betrothal kiss and the march from Lohengrin, pictured her at his side in some scene of old European witchery. He did not in the least wish the future Mrs. Newland Archer to be a simpleton. He meant her (thanks to his enlightening companionship) to develop a social tact and readiness of wit enabling her to hold her own with the most popular married women of the "younger set," in which it was the recognised custom to attract masculine homage while playfully discouraging it. If he had probed to the bottom of his vanity (as he sometimes nearly did) he would have found there the wish that his wife should be as worldly-wise and as eager to please as the married lady whose charms had held his fancy through two mildly agitated years; without, of course, any hint of the frailty which had so nearly marred that unhappy being's life, and had disarranged his own plans for a whole winter. How this miracle of fire and ice was to be created, and to sustain itself in a harsh world, he had never taken the time to think out; but he was content to hold his view without analysing it, since he knew it was that of all the carefully-brushed, white-waistcoated, button- hole-flowered gentlemen who succeeded each other in the club box, exchanged friendly greetings with him, and turned their opera-glasses critically on the circle of ladies who were the product of the system. In matters intellectual and artistic Newland Archer felt himself distinctly the superior of these chosen specimens of old New York gentility; he had probably read more, thought more, and even seen a good deal more of the world, than any other man of the number. Singly they betrayed their inferiority; but grouped together they represented "New York," and the habit of masculine solidarity made him accept their doctrine on all the issues called moral. He instinctively felt that in this respect it would be troublesome--and also rather bad form--to strike out for himself. "Well--upon my soul!" exclaimed Lawrence Lefferts, turning his opera-glass abruptly away from the stage. Lawrence Lefferts was, on the whole, the foremost authority on "form" in New York. He had probably devoted more time than any one else to the study of this intricate and fascinating question; but study alone could not account for his complete and easy competence. One had only to look at him, from the slant of his bald forehead and the curve of his beautiful fair moustache to the long patent-leather feet at the other end of his lean and elegant person, to feel that the knowledge of "form" must be congenital in any one who knew how to wear such good clothes so carelessly and carry such height with so much lounging grace. As a young admirer had once said of him: "If anybody can tell a fellow just when to wear a black tie with evening clothes and when not to, it's Larry Lefferts." And on the question of pumps versus patent-leather "Oxfords" his authority had never been disputed. "My God!" he said; and silently handed his glass to old Sillerton Jackson. Newland Archer, following Lefferts's glance, saw with surprise that his exclamation had been occasioned by the entry of a new figure into old Mrs. Mingott's box. It was that of a slim young woman, a little less tall than May Welland, with brown hair growing in close curls about her temples and held in place by a narrow band of diamonds. The suggestion of this headdress, which gave her what was then called a "Josephine look," was carried out in the cut of the dark blue velvet gown rather theatrically caught up under her bosom by a girdle with a large old-fashioned clasp. The wearer of this unusual dress, who seemed quite unconscious of the attention it was attracting, stood a moment in the centre of the box, discussing with Mrs. Welland the propriety of taking the latter's place in the front right- hand corner; then she yielded with a slight smile, and seated herself in line with Mrs. Welland's sister-in-law, Mrs. Lovell Mingott, who was installed in the opposite corner. Mr. Sillerton Jackson had returned the opera-glass to Lawrence Lefferts. The whole of the club turned instinctively, waiting to hear what the old man had to say; for old Mr. Jackson was as great an authority on "family" as Lawrence Lefferts was on "form." He knew all the ramifications of New York's cousinships; and could not only elucidate such complicated questions as that of the connection between the Mingotts (through the Thorleys) with the Dallases of South Carolina, and that of the relationship of the elder branch of Philadelphia Thorleys to the Albany Chiverses (on no account to be confused with the Manson Chiverses of University Place), but could also enumerate the leading characteristics of each family: as, for instance, the fabulous stinginess of the younger lines of Leffertses (the Long Island ones); or the fatal tendency of the Rushworths to make foolish matches; or the insanity recurring in every second generation of the Albany Chiverses, with whom their New York cousins had always refused to intermarry--with the disastrous exception of poor Medora Manson, who, as everybody knew . . . but then her mother was a Rushworth. In addition to this forest of family trees, Mr. Sillerton Jackson carried between his narrow hollow temples, and under his soft thatch of silver hair, a register of most of the scandals and mysteries that had smouldered under the unruffled surface of New York society within the last fifty years. So far indeed did his information extend, and so acutely retentive was his memory, that he was supposed to be the only man who could have told you who Julius Beaufort, the banker, really was, and what had become of handsome Bob Spicer, old Mrs. Manson Mingott's father, who had disappeared so mysteriously (with a large sum of trust money) less than a year after his marriage, on the very day that a beautiful Spanish dancer who had been delighting thronged audiences in the old Opera-house on the Battery had taken ship for Cuba. But these mysteries, and many others, were closely locked in Mr. Jackson's breast; for not only did his keen sense of honour forbid his repeating anything privately imparted, but he was fully aware that his reputation for discretion increased his opportunities of finding out what he wanted to know. The club box, therefore, waited in visible suspense while Mr. Sillerton Jackson handed back Lawrence Lefferts's opera-glass. For a moment he silently scrutinised the attentive group out of his filmy blue eyes overhung by old veined lids; then he gave his moustache a thoughtful twist, and said simply: "I didn't think the Mingotts would have tried it on."

70年代初一个一月的晚上，克里斯廷·尼尔森在纽约音乐院演唱歌剧《浮士德》。 虽然人们早就议论要在第40街以北的远郊兴建一座新的歌剧院，其造价与壮观将和欧洲那些著名首都的歌剧院媲美，然而上流社会却依然满足于每年冬天在这座历史悠久的音乐院红黄两色的旧包厢里进行社交聚会。保守派的人们欣赏它的窄小不便，这样可以把纽约社会开始惧怕但又为之吸引的“新人”拒之门外；多愁善感的人们因为它引起许多历史的联想而对它恋恋不舍；而音乐爱好者则留恋它精美的音响效果。在专为欣赏音乐而修建的厅堂中，音响效果向来都是个棘手的质量问题。 这是尼尔森夫人当年冬天的首场演出。那些被日报称为“超凡脱俗的听众”已经云集来听她的演唱。他们或乘私人马车、或乘宽敞的家庭双篷马车、或者乘档次较低却更为便利的“布朗四轮马车”，经过溜滑多雪的街道来到了这里。乘坐布朗马车来听歌剧，几乎跟坐自己的马车一样体面；而且，离开剧场时还有极大的优越性（对民主原则开一句玩笑）：你可以抢先登上线路上第一辆布朗马车，而不用等待自己的那因寒冷和烈酒而充血的红鼻子车夫在音乐院门廊下面显现。美国人想离开娱乐场所比想去的时候更加迫切，这可是那位了不起的马车行店主凭绝妙的直觉获得的伟大发现。 当纽兰·阿切尔打开包厢后面的门时，花园一场的帷幕刚刚升起。这位年轻人本可以早一点来到。他7点钟和母亲与妹妹一起用了餐，其后又在哥特式图书室里慢慢吞吞地吸了一支雪茄。那间放了光亮的黑色胡桃木书橱和尖顶椅子的房间，是这所房子里阿切尔太太惟一允许吸烟的地方。然而，首先，纽约是个大都市，而他又十分清楚，在大都市里听歌剧早到是“不合宜”的。而是否“合宜”，在纽兰·阿切尔时代的纽约，其意义就像几千年前支配了他祖先命运的不可思议的图腾恐惧一样重要。 他晚到的第二个原因是个人方面的。他吸烟慢慢吞吞，是因为他在内心深处是个艺术的爱好者，玩味行将来到的快乐，常常会使他比快乐真的来到时感到更深切的满足。当这种快乐十分微妙时尤其如此，而他的乐趣多半属于这种类型。这一次他期盼的时机非常珍贵，其性质异常微妙——呃，假若他把时间掌握得恰到好处，能与那位首席女演员的舞台监督合上拍，到场时正赶上她一边唱着“他爱我——他不爱我——他爱我！”一边抛洒着雏菊花瓣，其暗示像露水般清澈——果真如此，他进音乐院的时机就再美妙不过了。 当然，她唱的是“呣啊嘛”，而不是“他爱我”，因为音乐界那不容改变、不容怀疑的法则要求，由瑞典艺术家演唱的法国歌剧的德语文本，必须翻译成意大利语，以便讲英语的听众更清楚地理解。这一点纽兰·阿切尔觉得和他生活中遵循的所有其他惯例一样理所当然：比如，用两把带有蓝瓷漆涂着他姓名缩写的银背刷子分开他的头发，纽扣洞里插一朵花（最好是桅子花）才在社交界露面。 “呣啊嘛……农呣啊嘛……”首席女演员唱道，她以赢得爱情后的最后爆发力唱出“呣啊嘛！”一面把那束乱蓬蓬的雏菊压在唇上，抬起一双大眼睛，朝那位阴郁的小浮士德——卡布尔做作的脸上望去。他穿一件紫色的丝绒紧身上衣，戴一顶鼓囊囊的便帽，正徒劳地装出与那位天真的受害者一样纯洁真诚的表情。 纽兰·阿切尔倚在俱乐部包厢后面的墙上，目光从舞台上移开，扫视着剧场对面。正对着他的是老曼森·明戈特太太的包厢。可怕的肥胖病早已使她无法来听歌剧，不过在有社交活动的晚上，她总是由家庭的某些年轻成员代表出席。这一次，占据包厢前排座位的是她的儿媳洛弗尔·明戈特太太和她的女儿韦兰太太。坐在这两位身着锦缎的妇人身后的是一位穿白衣的年轻姑娘，正目不转睛地注视着那对舞台恋人。当尼尔森夫人“呣啊嘛”的颤音划破音乐院静寂的上空时（演唱雏菊歌期间，各包厢总是停止交谈），一片潮红泛起在姑娘的面颊，从额头涌向她美丽发辫的根际，漫过她那青春的胸部斜面，直至系着一朵桅子花的薄纱领的领线。她垂下眼睛望着膝上那一大束铃兰。纽兰·阿切尔看见她戴白手套的指尖轻抚着花朵。他满足地深深吸了一口气。他的目光又回到舞台上。 布景的制作是不惜工本的，连熟悉巴黎和维也纳歌剧院的人也承认布景很美。前景直至脚灯铺了一块鲜绿色的画布，中景的底层是若干覆盖着毛茸茸绿色地衣的对称小丘，与槌球游戏的拱门邻接，上面的灌木丛形状像桔子树，但点缀其间的却是大朵大朵粉红色和红色的玫瑰花。比这些玫瑰更大的紫罗兰，颇似教区女居民为牧师制作的花形笔擦，从玫瑰树底下的绿苔中拔地而起；在一些鲜花怒放的玫瑰枝头，嫁接着朵朵雏菊，预告着卢瑟·伯班克先生园艺试验遥远的奇观。 在这座魔幻般的花园中心，尼尔森夫人身穿镶淡蓝色缎子切口的白色开司米外衣，一个网状手提包吊在蓝腰带上晃来晃去，一条宽大的黄色织带精心地排列在她那件细棉紧身胸衣的两侧。她低垂着眼睛倾听卡布尔热烈的求爱，每当他用话语或目光劝诱她去从右侧斜伸出来的那座整洁的砖造别墅一楼的窗口时，她都装出一副对他的意图毫不理解的天真的样子。 “亲爱的！”纽兰·阿切尔心里想。他的目光迅速回到那位手持铃兰的年轻姑娘身上。“她连一点儿也看不懂啊。”他注视着她全”神贯注的稚嫩面庞，心中不由涌出一阵拥有者的激动，其中有对自己萌动的丈夫气概的自豪，也有对她那深不可测的纯洁的温馨敬意。“我们将在一起读《浮士德》，……在意大利的湖畔……”他心想，迷迷糊糊地把自己设计的蜜月场面与文学名著搅在一起。向自己的新娘阐释名著似乎是他做丈夫的特权。仅仅在今天下午，梅·韦兰才让他猜出她对他感到“中意”（纽约人尊崇的未婚少女认可的用语），而他的想象却早已跃过了订婚戒指、订婚之吻以及走出卢亨格林教堂的婚礼行列，构画起古老欧洲某个令人心醉的场景中她偎依在他身旁的情景了。 他决不希望未来的纽兰·阿切尔太太是个呆子。他要让她（由于他朝夕相伴的启蒙）养成一种圆通的社交能力，随机应变的口才，能与“年轻一代”那些最有名气的已婚女子平起平坐。在那些人中间，一条公认的习俗是，既要卖弄风情，引起男人的热情，同时又要装聋作哑，不让他们得寸进尺。假如他早一些对他的虚荣心进行深入的探索（有时候他几乎已经做到了），他可能早已发现那儿有个潜藏的愿望：希望自己的妻子跟那些已婚女士一样地世故圆通，一样地渴望取悦他人。那些太太们的妩媚曾使他心醉神迷，让他度过了两个稍显焦虑的年头——当然，他没露出一丁点脆弱的影子，尽管那险些毁了他这位不幸者的终生，并且整整一个冬天搅乱了他的计划。 至于如何创造出这火与冰的奇迹，又如何在一个冷酷的世界上支撑下去，他可是从来没有花时间想过；他只是满足于不加分析地坚持自己的观点，因为他知道这也是所有那些精心梳了头发。穿白背心、扣洞里别鲜花的绅士们的观点。他们一个接一个地进入俱乐部包厢，友好地和他打招呼，然后带着批评的眼光把望远镜对准了作为这个制度产物的女士们。在智力与艺术方面，纽兰·阿切尔觉得自己比老纽约上流阶层这些精选的标本明显要高一筹：他比这帮人中任何一位大概都读得多、思考得多，并且也见识得多。单独来看，他们都处于劣势，但凑在一起，他们却代表着“纽约”，而男性团结一致的惯例使他在称作道德的所有问题上都接受了他们的原则。他本能地感到，在这方面他若一个人标新立异，肯定会引起麻烦，而且也很不得体。 “哎哟——我的天！”劳伦斯·莱弗茨喊道，突然把他的小望远镜从舞台的方向移开。就总体而言，劳伦斯·莱弗茨在“举止”问题上是纽约的最高权威。他研究这个复杂而诱人的问题花费的时间大概比任何人都多。单只研究还不能说明他驾轻就熟的全才，人们只需看他一眼——从光秃秃的前额斜面与好看的金黄胡髭的曲线，到那瘦削优雅的身体另一端穿漆皮鞋的长脚——便会觉得，一个知道如何随便地穿着如此贵重的衣服并保持极度闲适优雅的人，在“举止”方面的学识一定是出自天赋。正如一位年轻崇拜者有一次谈起他时所说的：“假如有谁能告诉你什么时间打黑领带配夜礼服恰到好处，什么时候不行，那么，这个人就是劳伦斯·莱弗茨。” 至于网球鞋与漆皮“牛津”鞋孰优孰劣的问题，他的权威从未有人提出过怀疑。 “我的上帝！”他说，接着默默地将望远镜递给了老西勒顿·杰克逊。 纽兰·阿切尔随着莱弗茨的目光望去，惊讶地发现他的感叹是因为一个陌生的身影进入明戈特太太的包厢而引起的。那是位身材苗条的年轻女子，比梅·韦兰略矮一点，棕色的头发在鬓角处变成浓密的发鬈，用一条钻石窄带固定住。这种发型使她具有一种时下称作“约瑟芬式”的模样，这一联想在她那件深蓝色丝绒晚礼服的款式上得到了印证，那礼服用一条带老式大扣子的腰带在她胸下十分夸张地挽住。她穿着这一身奇特的衣服，十分引人注目，可她似乎一点儿也未发觉。她在包厢中间站了一会，与韦兰太太讨论占据她前排右面角落座位的礼节问题，接着便莞尔听命，与坐在对面角落里的韦兰太太的嫂嫂洛弗尔·明戈特太太在同一排就坐。 西勒顿·杰克逊先生把小望远镜还给了劳伦斯·莱弗茨。全俱乐部的人都本能地转过脸，等着听这位老者开讲。因为正如劳伦斯·莱弗茨在“举止”问题上那样，老杰克逊先生在“家族”问题上是最高权威。他了解纽约那些堂、表亲戚关系的所有支派；不仅能说清诸如明戈特家族（通过索利家族）与南卡罗来纳州达拉斯家族之间的关系，以及上一支费城索利家族与阿尔巴尼·奇弗斯家族（决不会与大学区的曼森·奇弗斯族混淆）复杂的亲缘，而且还能列举每个家族的主要特点。比如莱弗茨家年轻一代（长岛那些人）无比吝啬；拉什沃斯一家极其愚蠢，总是在婚配问题上犯下致命错误；再如，阿尔巴尼·奇弗斯家每隔一代就会出现一个神经病，他们纽约的表兄妹一直拒绝与之通婚——惟独可怜的梅多拉·曼森是个不幸的例外，她——人所共知……而她的母亲本来就是拉什沃斯家的人。 除了这种家族谱系的丰富知识之外，西勒顿·杰克逊在凹陷狭窄的两鬓之间、柔软浓密的银发下面，还保存着郁结在纽约社会平静表层底下的最近50年间多数丑闻与秘史的记录。他的信息的确面广量大，他的记忆的确精确无误，所以人们认为惟有他才能说出银行家朱利叶斯·博福特究竟是何许人，老曼森·明戈特太太的父亲、漂亮的鲍勃·斯派塞的结局究竟如何。后者结婚不到一年，就在一位美丽的西班牙舞蹈演员登船去古巴的那一天神秘地失踪了（带着一大笔委托金），她在巴特利的老歌剧院曾令蜂拥的观众欢欣鼓舞。不过这些秘闻——还有许多其他的——都严严实实锁在杰克逊先生心中。因为，不仅强烈的道义感不许他重复别人私下告诉他的任何事情，而且他十分清楚，谨慎周到的名声会给他更多的机会，以便查明他想了解的情况。 所以，当西勒顿·杰克逊先生把小望远镜还给劳伦斯·莱弗茨的时候，俱乐部包厢的人带着明显的悬念等待着。他用布满老筋的眼睑下那双朦胧的蓝眼睛默默地审视一番那伙洗耳恭听的人，然后若有所思地抖动一下胡髭，仅仅说了一句：“没想到明戈特家的人会摆出这种架式。”

Chapter 2

Newland Archer, during this brief episode, had been thrown into a strange state of embarrassment. It was annoying that the box which was thus attracting the undividedattention of masculine New York should be that in which his betrothedwas seated between her mother and aunt; and for a moment he could notidentify the lady in the Empire dress, nor imagine why her presencecreated such excitement among the initiated. Then light dawned on him,and with it came a momentary rush of indignation. No, indeed; no onewould have thought the Mingotts would have tried it on! But they had; they undoubtedly had; for the low- toned commentsbehind him left no doubt in Archer's mind that the young woman was MayWelland's cousin, the cousin always referred to in the family as "poorEllen Olenska." Archer knew that she had suddenly arrived from Europe aday or two previously; he had even heard from Miss Welland (notdisapprovingly) that she had been to see poor Ellen, who was stayingwith old Mrs. Mingott. Archer entirely approved of family solidarity,and one of the qualities he most admired in the Mingotts was theirresolute championship of the few black sheep that their blameless stockhad produced. There was nothing mean or ungenerous in the young man'sheart, and he was glad that his future wife should not be restrained byfalse prudery from being kind (in private) to her unhappy cousin; but toreceive Countess Olenska in the family circle was a different thingfrom producing her in public, at the Opera of all places, and in thevery box with the young girl whose engagement to him, Newland Archer,was to be announced within a few weeks. No, he felt as old SillertonJackson felt; he did not think the Mingotts would have tried it on! He knew, of course, that whatever man dared (within Fifth Avenue'slimits) that old Mrs. Manson Mingott, the Matriarch of the line, woulddare. He had always admired the high and mighty old lady, who, in spiteof having been only Catherine Spicer of Staten Island, with a fathermysteriously discredited, and neither money nor position enough to makepeople forget it, had allied herself with the head of the wealthyMingott line, married two of her daughters to "foreigners" (an Italianmarquis and an English banker), and put the crowning touch to heraudacities by building a large house of pale cream-coloured stone (whenbrown sandstone seemed as much the only wear as a frock-coat in theafternoon) in an inaccessible wilderness near the Central Park. Old Mrs. Mingott's foreign daughters had become a legend. They nevercame back to see their mother, and the latter being, like many personsof active mind and dominating will, sedentary and corpulent in herhabit, had philosophically remained at home. But the cream- colouredhouse (supposed to be modelled on the private hotels of the Parisianaristocracy) was there as a visible proof of her moral courage; and shethroned in it, among pre-Revolutionary furniture and souvenirs of theTuileries of Louis Napoleon (where she had shone in her middle age), asplacidly as if there were nothing peculiar in living above Thirty-fourthStreet, or in having French windows that opened like doors instead ofsashes that pushed up. Every one (including Mr. Sillerton Jackson) was agreed that oldCatherine had never had beauty--a gift which, in the eyes of New York,justified every success, and excused a certain number of failings.Unkind people said that, like her Imperial namesake, she had won her wayto success by strength of will and hardness of heart, and a kind ofhaughty effrontery that was somehow justified by the extreme decency anddignity of her private life. Mr. Manson Mingott had died when she wasonly twenty-eight, and had "tied up" the money with an additionalcaution born of the general distrust of the Spicers; but his bold youngwidow went her way fearlessly, mingled freely in foreign society,married her daughters in heaven knew what corrupt and fashionablecircles, hobnobbed with Dukes and Ambassadors, associated familiarlywith Papists, entertained Opera singers, and was the intimate friend ofMme. Taglioni; and all the while (as Sillerton Jackson was the first toproclaim) there had never been a breath on her reputation; the onlyrespect, he always added, in which she differed from the earlierCatherine. Mrs. Manson Mingott had long since succeeded in untying her husband'sfortune, and had lived in affluence for half a century; but memories ofher early straits had made her excessively thrifty, and though, whenshe bought a dress or a piece of furniture, she took care that it shouldbe of the best, she could not bring herself to spend much on thetransient pleasures of the table. Therefore, for totally differentreasons, her food was as poor as Mrs. Archer's, and her wines didnothing to redeem it. Her relatives considered that the penury of hertable discredited the Mingott name, which had always been associatedwith good living; but people continued to come to her in spite of the"made dishes" and flat champagne, and in reply to the remonstrances ofher son Lovell (who tried to retrieve the family credit by having thebest chef in New York) she used to say laughingly: "What's the use oftwo good cooks in one family, now that I've married the girls and can'teat sauces?" Newland Archer, as he mused on these things, had once more turned hiseyes toward the Mingott box. He saw that Mrs. Welland and hersister-in-law were facing their semicircle of critics with theMingottian APLOMB which old Catherine had inculcated in all her tribe,and that only May Welland betrayed, by a heightened colour (perhaps dueto the knowledge that he was watching her) a sense of the gravity of thesituation. As for the cause of the commotion, she sat gracefully in hercorner of the box, her eyes fixed on the stage, and revealing, as sheleaned forward, a little more shoulder and bosom than New York wasaccustomed to seeing, at least in ladies who had reasons for wishing topass unnoticed. Few things seemed to Newland Archer more awful than an offenceagainst "Taste," that far-off divinity of whom "Form" was the merevisible representative and vicegerent. Madame Olenska's pale and seriousface appealed to his fancy as suited to the occasion and to her unhappysituation; but the way her dress (which had no tucker) sloped away fromher thin shoulders shocked and troubled him. He hated to think of MayWelland's being exposed to the influence of a young woman so careless ofthe dictates of Taste. "After all," he heard one of the younger men begin behind him(everybody talked through the Mephistopheles- and-Martha scenes), "afterall, just WHAT happened?" "Well--she left him; nobody attempts to deny that." "He's an awful brute, isn't he?" continued the young enquirer, acandid Thorley, who was evidently preparing to enter the lists as thelady's champion. "The very worst; I knew him at Nice," said Lawrence Lefferts withauthority. "A half-paralysed white sneering fellow--rather handsomehead, but eyes with a lot of lashes. Well, I'll tell you the sort: whenhe wasn't with women he was collecting china. Paying any price for both,I understand." There was a general laugh, and the young champion said: "Well, then----?" "Well, then; she bolted with his secretary." "Oh, I see." The champion's face fell. "It didn't last long, though: I heard of her a few months laterliving alone in Venice. I believe Lovell Mingott went out to get her. Hesaid she was desperately unhappy. That's all right--but this paradingher at the Opera's another thing." "Perhaps," young Thorley hazarded, "she's too unhappy to be left at home." This was greeted with an irreverent laugh, and the youth blusheddeeply, and tried to look as if he had meant to insinuate what knowingpeople called a "double entendre." "Well--it's queer to have brought Miss Welland, anyhow," some one said in a low tone, with a side- glance at Archer. "Oh, that's part of the campaign: Granny's orders, no doubt,"Lefferts laughed. "When the old lady does a thing she does itthoroughly." The act was ending, and there was a general stir in the box. SuddenlyNewland Archer felt himself impelled to decisive action. The desire tobe the first man to enter Mrs. Mingott's box, to proclaim to the waitingworld his engagement to May Welland, and to see her through whateverdifficulties her cousin's anomalous situation might involve her in; thisimpulse had abruptly overruled all scruples and hesitations, and senthim hurrying through the red corridors to the farther side of the house. As he entered the box his eyes met Miss Welland's, and he saw thatshe had instantly understood his motive, though the family dignity whichboth considered so high a virtue would not permit her to tell him so.The persons of their world lived in an atmosphere of faint implicationsand pale delicacies, and the fact that he and she understood each otherwithout a word seemed to the young man to bring them nearer than anyexplanation would have done. Her eyes said: "You see why Mamma broughtme," and his answered: "I would not for the world have had you stayaway." "You know my niece Countess Olenska?" Mrs. Welland enquired as sheshook hands with her future son- in-law. Archer bowed without extendinghis hand, as was the custom on being introduced to a lady; and EllenOlenska bent her head slightly, keeping her own pale-gloved handsclasped on her huge fan of eagle feathers. Having greeted Mrs. LovellMingott, a large blonde lady in creaking satin, he sat down beside hisbetrothed, and said in a low tone: "I hope you've told Madame Olenskathat we're engaged? I want everybody to know--I want you to let meannounce it this evening at the ball." Miss Welland's face grew rosy as the dawn, and she looked at him withradiant eyes. "If you can persuade Mamma," she said; "but why should wechange what is already settled?" He made no answer but that which hiseyes returned, and she added, still more confidently smiling: "Tell mycousin yourself: I give you leave. She says she used to play with youwhen you were children." She made way for him by pushing back her chair, and promptly, and alittle ostentatiously, with the desire that the whole house should seewhat he was doing, Archer seated himself at the Countess Olenska's side. "We DID use to play together, didn't we?" she asked, turning hergrave eyes to his. "You were a horrid boy, and kissed me once behind adoor; but it was your cousin Vandie Newland, who never looked at me,that I was in love with." Her glance swept the horse-shoe curve ofboxes. "Ah, how this brings it all back to me--I see everybody here inknickerbockers and pantalettes," she said, with her trailing slightlyforeign accent, her eyes returning to his face. Agreeable as their expression was, the young man was shocked thatthey should reflect so unseemly a picture of the august tribunal beforewhich, at that very moment, her case was being tried. Nothing could bein worse taste than misplaced flippancy; and he answered somewhatstiffly: "Yes, you have been away a very long time." "Oh, centuries and centuries; so long," she said, "that I'm sure I'mdead and buried, and this dear old place is heaven;" which, for reasonshe could not define, struck Newland Archer as an even more disrespectfulway of describing New York society.

在这个短暂的插曲中间，纽兰·阿切尔陷入一种奇怪的尴尬境地。 讨厌的是，如此吸引着纽约男性世界全部注意力的包厢竟是他未婚妻就坐的那一个，她坐在母亲与舅妈中间。他一时竟认不出那位穿着法国30年代服装的女士，也想象不出她的出现为什么会在俱乐部会员中引起如此的兴奋。接着，他明白过来，并随之产生一阵愤慨。的确，没有人会想到明戈特家的人会摆出这种架式！ 然而他们这样做了。毫无疑义，他们是这样做了；因为阿切尔身后低声的评论使他心中没有丝毫怀疑，那位年轻女子就是梅·韦兰的表姐，那位家里人一直称作“可怜的埃伦·奥兰斯卡”的表姐。阿切尔知道她一两天前突然从欧洲回来了，甚至还听韦兰小姐（并非不满地）说过，她已经去看过可怜的埃伦了。她住在老明戈特太太那儿。阿切尔完全拥护家族的团结。他最崇拜的明戈特家族的品德之一，就是他们对家族中出的几个不肖子弟的坚决支持。他并不自私，也不是小鸡肚肠；他未来的妻子没有受到假正经的局限，能（私下）善待她不幸的表姐，他还为此感到高兴。然而，在家庭圈子内接待奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人是一回事，把她带到公共场所，尤其是歌剧院这样的地方，则是完全不同的另一回事。而且就在那位年轻姑娘的包厢里，她与他纽兰·阿切尔的订婚消息几周之内就要宣布。是的，他的感觉与老西勒顿·杰克逊一样：他没想到明戈特家的人会摆出这种架式！ 他当然知道，男人敢做的任何事（第五大街范围之内），老曼森·明戈特太太这位女族长都敢做。他一向崇拜这位高大刚毅的老夫人，尽管她原来不过是斯塔腾岛的凯瑟琳·斯派塞，有一位神秘的名誉扫地的父亲，那件事无论金钱还是地位都难以让人们忘记。然而，她却与富有的明戈特家族的领头人联了姻，把两个女儿嫁给了“外国人”（一个意大利侯爵，一个英国银行家），并且在中央公园附近无法插足的荒地里建了一所乳白色石头大宅院（正值棕色沙石仿佛像下午的长礼服那样青一色的时候），从而达到了登峰造极的地步。 老明戈特太太的两个外籍女儿成了一则神话故事。她们从不回来看望母亲。母亲依恋故土且身体肥胖，像许多思想活跃意志专横的人那样，一直达观地留在家中，而那幢乳白色的房子（据说是仿照巴黎贵族的私人旅馆建造的）却成了她大无畏精神的见证。她在里面登上宝座，平静地生活在独立战争前的家具与路易·拿破仑杜伊勒利宫（她中年时曾在那儿大出风头）的纪念品中间，仿佛住在34街以北、用开得像门一样大的法式窗户代替推拉式吊窗丝毫不足为怪似的。 人人（包括西勒顿·杰克逊先生）都一致认为，老凯瑟琳从没拥有过美貌，而在纽约人眼中，美貌是成功的保证，也可作为某些失败的借口。不友善的人们说，像她那位大英帝国的同名女人一样，她获得成功靠的是意志力量与冷酷心肠，外加一种由于私生活绝对正派而使她在一定程度上免遭非议的傲慢。曼森·明戈特先生去世的时候她只有28岁。出于对斯派塞家族的不信任，他用一条附加条款“冻结”了自己的遗产。他那位年轻、果敢的遗孀大无畏地走着自己的路，她无拘无束地混迹在外国的社交界，把女儿嫁到天知道何等腐化时髦的圈子里，与公爵大使们开怀畅饮，与教皇政治家亲密交往，款待歌剧演员，并做了芭蕾名门之后塔戈里奥尼夫人的密友。与此同时（正如西勒顿·杰克逊首先宣布的），关于她的名声却从没有一句口舌。这是她惟一一点，他总是接着说，与以前那位凯瑟琳的不同之处。 曼森·明戈特太太早已解冻了丈夫的财产，并殷殷实实地活了半个世纪。早年困境的记忆使她格外节俭，虽然她在买衣服或添置家具时总是关照要最好的，但却舍不得为餐桌上瞬间的享乐过多破费。所以，由于完全不同的原因，她的饭菜跟阿切尔太太家一样差，她的酒也不能为之增光添彩。亲戚们认为，她餐桌上的吝啬损害了明戈特家的名誉——它一向是与吃喝讲究连在一起的。然而人们还是不顾那些“拼盘”与走味的香摈，继续到她家来。针对她儿子洛弗尔的劝告（他企图雇佣纽约最好的厨师以恢复家族的名誉），她常常笑着说：“既然姑娘们都嫁出去了，我又不能用调味品，一个家庭用两个好厨师还有什么用？” 纽兰·阿切尔一面沉思着这些事情，又把目光转向了明戈特包厢。他见韦兰太太与她的嫂嫂正带着老凯瑟琳向族人灌输的那种明戈特家特有的自恃面对着组成半圆形的批评者。只有梅·韦兰面色绯红（也许由于知道他在看她），流露出事态严峻的意味。至于引起骚动的那一位，依然优雅地坐在包厢角落里，两眼凝视着舞台。由于身体前倾，她肩膀和胸部露得比纽约社会习惯看到的稍稍多了一点，至少在那些有理由希望不引起注意的女士们中间是如此。 在纽兰·阿切尔看来，很少有什么事比与“品味”相悖更难堪的了。品味是一种看不见的神韵，“举止”仅仅是它直观的替代物与代表。奥兰斯卡夫人苍白而严肃的面孔，按他的想象是适合于这种场合及她的不幸处境的，但她的衣服（没有衣领）从那单薄的肩头坡下去的样式却令他震惊不安。他不愿设想梅·韦兰受到一个如此不顾品味和情趣的年轻女子的影响。 “究竟——”他听到身后一个年轻人开口说（在靡菲斯特与玛莎的几场戏中，大家自始至终都在交谈），“究竟发生了什么事？” “哦——她离开了他；谁也不想否认这一点。” “他是个可怕的畜牲，不是吗？”年轻人接着说，他是索利家族中一位直率的人，显然准备加入那位女士的护花使者之列。 “一个糟糕透了的家伙；我在尼斯见过他，”劳伦斯·莱弗茨以权威的口气说。“老喝得半醉，苍白的面孔上露出讥笑——但脑袋倒很漂亮，不过眼睫毛太多。噢，我来告诉你他那德行：他不是跟女人在一起，就是去收集瓷器。据我所知，他对两者都不惜任何代价。” 这话引出一阵哄堂大笑，那位年轻的护花使者说：“唔，可是——” “唔，可是，她跟他的秘书逃跑了。” “噢，我明白了。”护花使者的脸沉了下来。 “可是，这并没有持续多久：我听说她几个月后就独自住在威尼斯，我相信洛弗尔·明戈特那次出国是去找她的。他曾说她非常地不快活。现在没事了——不过在歌剧院里这样炫耀她却另当别论。” “也许，”那位小索利冒险地说，“她太不快活了，不会愿意一个人被晾在家里。” 这话引来一阵无礼的笑声，年轻人脸色深红，竭力装出是想巧妙使用聪明人所说的“双关语”的样子。 “唔——不管怎么说，把韦兰小姐带来总是令人费解，”有人悄悄地说，一面斜视了阿切尔一眼。 “噢，这是运动的一个组成部分嘛：肯定是老祖宗的命令，”莱弗茨笑着说。“老夫人要是干一件事，总要干得完全彻底。” 这一幕结束了，包厢里一阵普遍的骚动。纽兰·阿切尔突然感到必须采取果断行动。他要第一个走进明戈特太太的包厢，第一个向期望中的社交界宣布他与梅·韦兰的订婚消息，第一个去帮助她度过表姐的异常处境可能使她卷人的任何困难。这一冲动猛然间压倒了一切顾虑与迟疑，促使他匆匆穿过一节节红色走廊，向剧院较远的一端走去。 进入包厢的时候，他的眼睛遇到了韦兰小姐的目光，而且他发现她立即明白了他的来意，尽管家族的尊严不允许她对他明讲——两个人都认为这是一种很高尚的美德。他们这个圈子的人都生活在一种含而不露、稍显矜持的气氛中，年轻人觉得，他与她不用说一句话就能互相沟通，任何解释都不能使他们更加贴近。她的眼睛在说：“你明白妈妈为什么带我来。”他的眼睛则回答：“无论如何我都不肯让你离开这儿。” “你认识我的侄女奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人吗？”韦兰太太与她未来的女婿握手时问道。按照引见给女士的习惯，阿切尔欠一下身子，没有伸出手；埃伦·奥兰斯卡轻轻低一下头，两只戴浅色手套的手继续握着那把大鹰毛扇子。与洛弗尔·明戈特太太打过招呼——她是个大块头的金发女人，穿一身悉索作响的缎子衣裙——他在未婚妻的身旁坐下，低声说：“我希望你已经告诉奥兰斯卡夫人我们订婚了吧？我想让每个人都知道——我要你允许我今晚在舞会上宣布。” 韦兰小姐的脸变成曙光般的玫瑰红色，她两眼发光地看着他。“如果你能说服妈妈的话，”她说，“不过，已经定了的事，干吗要改变呢？”他没有说话，只用眼睛做了回答。她信心更足地笑着补充说：“你自己告诉我表姐吧，我允许你。她说你还是孩子的时候，她常和你一起玩耍。” 她把椅子向后推了推，给他让出了路。阿切尔怀着一种让全场的人都能看见自己的举动的愿望，立刻示威性地坐到了奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人身边。 “我们过去的确常在一起玩，不是吗？”她问道，一面用严肃的目光看着他的眼睛。“你那时是个很讨厌的男孩，有一次你在门后面吻了我，但那时我爱上的却是你的堂兄范迪·纽兰，可他从来不看我一眼。”她的目光扫视着那些马蹄形排列的包厢。“啊，这场面多让我回想起过去的一切啊——我发现这里人人都穿灯笼裤或宽松裤，”她带着略微拖长的异国口音说，目光又回到他的脸上。 这番话尽管表达的感情是令人愉快的，却竟然使他想到了威严的法庭，这一不相称的联想令年轻人感到震惊。而此时此刻，这个法庭就摆在她的面前，她的案子正在进行审理。没有什么东西比不合时宜的轻率更有伤大雅了。他有点生硬地回答说：“是啊，你离开这儿已经很久了。” “啊，好像有好几百年了。太久了，”她说，“让我觉得自己已经死了，被埋掉了，而这方亲切的故土就是天堂。”说不清是什么理由，纽兰·阿切尔只觉得这样形容纽约社会就更加失礼了。

Chapter 3

It invariably happened in the same way. Mrs. Julius Beaufort, on the night of her annual ball, never failedto appear at the Opera; indeed, she always gave her ball on an Operanight in order to emphasise her complete superiority to household cares,and her possession of a staff of servants competent to organise everydetail of the entertainment in her absence. The Beauforts' house was one of the few in New York that possessed aball-room (it antedated even Mrs. Manson Mingott's and the HeadlyChiverses'); and at a time when it was beginning to be thought"provincial" to put a "crash" over the drawing-room floor and move thefurniture upstairs, the possession of a ball-room that was used for noother purpose, and left for three-hundred-and-sixty-four days of theyear to shuttered darkness, with its gilt chairs stacked in a corner andits chandelier in a bag; this undoubted superiority was felt tocompensate for whatever was regrettable in the Beaufort past. Mrs. Archer, who was fond of coining her social philosophy intoaxioms, had once said: "We all have our pet common people--" and thoughthe phrase was a daring one, its truth was secretly admitted in many anexclusive bosom. But the Beauforts were not exactly common; some peoplesaid they were even worse. Mrs. Beaufort belonged indeed to one ofAmerica's most honoured families; she had been the lovely Regina Dallas(of the South Carolina branch), a penniless beauty introduced to NewYork society by her cousin, the imprudent Medora Manson, who was alwaysdoing the wrong thing from the right motive. When one was related to theMansons and the Rushworths one had a "droit de cite" (as Mr. SillertonJackson, who had frequented the Tuileries, called it) in New Yorksociety; but did one not forfeit it in marrying Julius Beaufort? The question was: who was Beaufort? He passed for an Englishman, wasagreeable, handsome, ill-tempered, hospitable and witty. He had come toAmerica with letters of recommendation from old Mrs. Manson Mingott'sEnglish son-in-law, the banker, and had speedily made himself animportant position in the world of affairs; but his habits weredissipated, his tongue was bitter, his antecedents were mysterious; andwhen Medora Manson announced her cousin's engagement to him it was feltto be one more act of folly in poor Medora's long record of imprudences. But folly is as often justified of her children as wisdom, and twoyears after young Mrs. Beaufort's marriage it was admitted that she hadthe most distinguished house in New York. No one knew exactly how themiracle was accomplished. She was indolent, passive, the caustic evencalled her dull; but dressed like an idol, hung with pearls, growingyounger and blonder and more beautiful each year, she throned in Mr.Beaufort's heavy brown-stone palace, and drew all the world therewithout lifting her jewelled little finger. The knowing people said itwas Beaufort himself who trained the servants, taught the chef newdishes, told the gardeners what hot-house flowers to grow for thedinner-table and the drawing-rooms, selected the guests, brewed theafter-dinner punch and dictated the little notes his wife wrote to herfriends. If he did, these domestic activities were privately performed,and he presented to the world the appearance of a careless andhospitable millionaire strolling into his own drawing-room with thedetachment of an invited guest, and saying: "My wife's gloxinias are amarvel, aren't they? I believe she gets them out from Kew." Mr. Beaufort's secret, people were agreed, was the way he carriedthings off. It was all very well to whisper that he had been "helped" toleave England by the international banking-house in which he had beenemployed; he carried off that rumour as easily as the rest--though NewYork's business conscience was no less sensitive than its moralstandard--he carried everything before him, and all New York into hisdrawing- rooms, and for over twenty years now people had said they were"going to the Beauforts'" with the same tone of security as if they hadsaid they were going to Mrs. Manson Mingott's, and with the addedsatisfaction of knowing they would get hot canvas-back ducks and vintagewines, instead of tepid Veuve Clicquot without a year and warmed-upcroquettes from Philadelphia. Mrs. Beaufort, then, had as usual appeared in her box just before theJewel Song; and when, again as usual, she rose at the end of the thirdact, drew her opera cloak about her lovely shoulders, and disappeared,New York knew that meant that half an hour later the ball would begin. The Beaufort house was one that New Yorkers were proud to show toforeigners, especially on the night of the annual ball. The Beaufortshad been among the first people in New York to own their own red velvetcarpet and have it rolled down the steps by their own footmen, undertheir own awning, instead of hiring it with the supper and the ball-roomchairs. They had also inaugurated the custom of letting the ladies taketheir cloaks off in the hall, instead of shuffling up to the hostess'sbedroom and recurling their hair with the aid of the gas-burner;Beaufort was understood to have said that he supposed all his wife'sfriends had maids who saw to it that they were properly coiffees whenthey left home. Then the house had been boldly planned with a ball-room, so that,instead of squeezing through a narrow passage to get to it (as at theChiverses') one marched solemnly down a vista of enfiladed drawing-rooms (the sea-green, the crimson and the bouton d'or), seeing from afarthe many-candled lustres reflected in the polished parquetry, andbeyond that the depths of a conservatory where camellias and tree-fernsarched their costly foliage over seats of black and gold bamboo. Newland Archer, as became a young man of his position, strolled insomewhat late. He had left his overcoat with the silk-stockinged footmen(the stockings were one of Beaufort's few fatuities), had dawdled awhile in the library hung with Spanish leather and furnished with Buhland malachite, where a few men were chatting and putting on theirdancing-gloves, and had finally joined the line of guests whom Mrs.Beaufort was receiving on the threshold of the crimson drawing-room. Archer was distinctly nervous. He had not gone back to his club afterthe Opera (as the young bloods usually did), but, the night being fine,had walked for some distance up Fifth Avenue before turning back in thedirection of the Beauforts' house. He was definitely afraid that theMingotts might be going too far; that, in fact, they might have GrannyMingott's orders to bring the Countess Olenska to the ball. From the tone of the club box he had perceived how grave a mistakethat would be; and, though he was more than ever determined to "see thething through," he felt less chivalrously eager to champion hisbetrothed's cousin than before their brief talk at the Opera. Wandering on to the bouton d'or drawing-room (where Beaufort had hadthe audacity to hang "Love Victorious," the much-discussed nude ofBouguereau) Archer found Mrs. Welland and her daughter standing near theball-room door. Couples were already gliding over the floor beyond: thelight of the wax candles fell on revolving tulle skirts, on girlishheads wreathed with modest blossoms, on the dashing aigrettes andornaments of the young married women's coiffures, and on the glitter ofhighly glazed shirt-fronts and fresh glace gloves. Miss Welland, evidently about to join the dancers, hung on thethreshold, her lilies-of-the-valley in her hand (she carried no otherbouquet), her face a little pale, her eyes burning with a candidexcitement. A group of young men and girls were gathered about her, andthere was much hand-clasping, laughing and pleasantry on which Mrs.Welland, standing slightly apart, shed the beam of a qualified approval.It was evident that Miss Welland was in the act of announcing herengagement, while her mother affected the air of parental reluctanceconsidered suitable to the occasion. Archer paused a moment. It was at his express wish that theannouncement had been made, and yet it was not thus that he would havewished to have his happiness known. To proclaim it in the heat and noiseof a crowded ball-room was to rob it of the fine bloom of privacy whichshould belong to things nearest the heart. His joy was so deep thatthis blurring of the surface left its essence untouched; but he wouldhave liked to keep the surface pure too. It was something of asatisfaction to find that May Welland shared this feeling. Her eyes fledto his beseechingly, and their look said: "Remember, we're doing thisbecause it's right." No appeal could have found a more immediate response in Archer'sbreast; but he wished that the necessity of their action had beenrepresented by some ideal reason, and not simply by poor Ellen Olenska.The group about Miss Welland made way for him with significant smiles,and after taking his share of the felicitations he drew his betrothedinto the middle of the ball-room floor and put his arm about her waist. "Now we shan't have to talk," he said, smiling into her candid eyes, as they floated away on the soft waves of the Blue Danube. She made no answer. Her lips trembled into a smile, but the eyesremained distant and serious, as if bent on some ineffable vision."Dear," Archer whispered, pressing her to him: it was borne in on himthat the first hours of being engaged, even if spent in a ball-room, hadin them something grave and sacramental. What a new life it was goingto be, with this whiteness, radiance, goodness at one's side! The dance over, the two, as became an affianced couple, wandered intothe conservatory; and sitting behind a tall screen of tree-ferns andcamellias Newland pressed her gloved hand to his lips. "You see I did as you asked me to," she said. "Yes: I couldn't wait," he answered smiling. After a moment he added: "Only I wish it hadn't had to be at a ball." "Yes, I know." She met his glance comprehendingly. "But after all--even here we're alone together, aren't we?" "Oh, dearest--always!" Archer cried. Evidently she was always going to understand; she was always going tosay the right thing. The discovery made the cup of his bliss overflow,and he went on gaily: "The worst of it is that I want to kiss you and Ican't." As he spoke he took a swift glance about the conservatory,assured himself of their momentary privacy, and catching her to him laida fugitive pressure on her lips. To counteract the audacity of thisproceeding he led her to a bamboo sofa in a less secluded part of theconservatory, and sitting down beside her broke a lily-of-the-valleyfrom her bouquet. She sat silent, and the world lay like a sunlit valleyat their feet. "Did you tell my cousin Ellen?" she asked presently, as if she spoke through a dream. He roused himself, and remembered that he had not done so. Someinvincible repugnance to speak of such things to the strange foreignwoman had checked the words on his lips. "No--I hadn't the chance after all," he said, fibbing hastily. "Ah." She looked disappointed, but gently resolved on gaining herpoint. "You must, then, for I didn't either; and I shouldn't like her tothink--" "Of course not. But aren't you, after all, the person to do it?" She pondered on this. "If I'd done it at the right time, yes: but nowthat there's been a delay I think you must explain that I'd asked youto tell her at the Opera, before our speaking about it to everybodyhere. Otherwise she might think I had forgotten her. You see, she's oneof the family, and she's been away so long that she'srather--sensitive." Archer looked at her glowingly. "Dear and great angel! Of course I'lltell her." He glanced a trifle apprehensively toward the crowdedball-room. "But I haven't seen her yet. Has she come?" "No; at the last minute she decided not to." "At the last minute?" he echoed, betraying his surprise that she should ever have considered the alternative possible. "Yes. She's awfully fond of dancing," the young girl answered simply."But suddenly she made up her mind that her dress wasn't smart enoughfor a ball, though we thought it so lovely; and so my aunt had to takeher home." "Oh, well--" said Archer with happy indifference. Nothing about hisbetrothed pleased him more than her resolute determination to carry toits utmost limit that ritual of ignoring the "unpleasant" in which theyhad both been brought up. "She knows as well as I do," he reflected, "the real reason of hercousin's staying away; but I shall never let her see by the least signthat I am conscious of there being a shadow of a shade on poor EllenOlenska's reputation."

事情还是按老样子进行，一成不变。 在举办一年一度的舞会的这天晚上，朱利叶斯·博福特太太决不会忘记去歌剧院露露面。真的，为了突出她执掌家务的全能与高明，显示她拥有一班有才干的仆人，能够在她不在时安排好招待活动的种种细节，她总是在有歌剧演出的晚上举办舞会。 博福特家的住宅是纽约为数不多的有舞厅的住宅之一（甚至先于曼森，明戈特太太家和黑德利·奇弗斯家）。正当人们开始认为在客厅的地板上“乒乒乓乓”把家具搬到楼上显得“土气”的时候，拥有一个不作他用的舞厅，一年364天把它关闭在黑暗中，镀金的椅子堆在角落里，枝形吊灯装在袋子里——人们觉得，这种无庸置疑的优越性足以补偿博福特历史上任何令人遗憾的事情。 阿切尔太太喜欢将自己的社交哲学提炼成格言，有一次她曾说：“我们全都有自己宠幸的平民——”虽然这句话说得很大胆，但它的真实性却得到许多势利者暗中的承认。不过博福特夫妇并不属于严格意义上的平民，有人说他们比平民还要差。博福特太太确实属于美国最有名望的家族之一，她原本是可爱的里吉纳·达拉斯（属于南卡罗来纳的一个家系），一位分文不名的美人，是由她的表姐、鲁莽的梅多拉·曼森引荐到纽约社交界的，而梅多拉·曼森老是好心做坏事。谁若是与曼森家族和拉什沃斯家族有了亲缘关系，那么谁就会在纽约上流社会取得“公民权”（像西勒顿·杰克逊先生说的那样，他早年经常出人杜伊勒利王宫）；但是，有没有人会因为嫁给朱利叶斯·博福特，而不丧失这种公民权呢？ 问题在于：博福特究竟是何许人？他被认为是个英国人，彬彬有礼，仪表堂堂，脾气很坏，但却诙谐好客。他原是带着老曼森·明戈特太太那位英国银行家女婿的推荐信来到美国的，并很快在社交界赢得了重要地位；然而他生性放荡，言辞尖刻，而他的履历又很神秘。当梅多拉·曼森宣布她表妹与他订婚的消息时，人们认定，在可怜的梅多拉长长的鲁莽纪录中又增加了一次愚蠢行动。 然而愚蠢与聪明一样，常常会给她带来良好的结果。年轻的博福特太太结婚两年之后，人们已公认她拥有了纽约最引人注目的住宅。没有人知道这一奇迹究竟是怎样发生的。她懒散驯服，刻薄的人甚至称她果笨。但她打扮得像个玩偶，金发碧眼，珠光宝气，变得一年比一年年轻，一年比一年漂亮。她在博福特先生深棕色的石头宫殿里登上宝座，无须抬一抬戴钻戒的小手指便能把整个社交界的名人都吸引到身边。知情的人说，博福特亲自训练仆役，教厨师烹调新的菜肴，吩咐园丁在温室中栽培适宜餐桌与客厅的鲜花。他还亲自挑选宾客，酿制餐后的潘趣酒，并口授妻子写给朋友的便函。假若他果真如此，那么，这些家务活动也都是私下进行的；在社交界面前出现的他，却是一位漫不经心、热情好客的百万富翁，像贵宾一样潇洒地走进自己的客厅，赞不绝口地说：“我妻子的大岩桐真令人叫绝，不是吗？我相信她是从伦敦国立植物园弄来的。” 人们一致认为，博福特先生的秘密在于他成功的处事方法。虽然有传闻说，他是由雇佣他的国际银行“帮助”离开英国的，但他对这一谣言跟对其他谣言一样满不在乎。尽管纽约的商业良心跟它的道德准则一样地敏感，但他搬走了挡在前面的一切障碍，并把全纽约的人搬进了他的客厅。二十多年来，人们说起“要去博福特家”，那口气就跟说去曼森·明戈特太太家一样地心安理得，外加一种明知会享受灰背野鸭与陈年佳酿——而非劣酒与炸丸子——的满足。 于是，跟往常一样，博福特太太在《朱厄尔之歌》开唱之前准时出现在她的包厢里；她又跟往常一样在第三幕结束时站了起来，拉一拉披在她可爱的肩膀上的歌剧斗篷，退场了。全纽约的人都明白，这意味着半小时后舞会即将开始。 博福特的家是纽约人乐于向外国人炫耀的一处住宅，尤其是在举办一年一度的舞会的晚上。博福特夫妇是纽约第一批拥有自己的红丝绒地毯的人。他们在自己的凉棚下面，让自己的男仆把地毯从门阶上铺下来；而不是像预订晚餐和舞厅用的椅子一样从外面租来。他们还开创了让女士们在门厅里脱下斗篷的风习，而不是把斗篷乱堆到楼上女主人的卧室里，再用煤气喷嘴重卷头发。据悉博福特曾经说过，他认为妻子所有的朋友出门时都已由女佣替她们做好了头发。 而且，那幢带舞厅的住宅设计得十分气派，人们不必穿过狭窄的过道（像奇弗斯家那样），便可昂首阔步地从两排相对的客厅（海绿色的、猩红色的。金黄色的）中间走进舞厅。从远处即可看到映在上光镶花地板上的许多蜡烛的光辉。再往远处看，可以望见一座温室的深处，山茶与桫楞的枝叶在黑、黄两色的竹椅上空形成拱顶。 纽兰·阿切尔到达稍微晚了一点，这符合他这样的年轻人的身份。他把大衣交给穿长丝袜的男仆（这些长袜是博福特为数不多的蠢事之一），在挂着西班牙皮革、用工艺品和孔雀石镶嵌装饰的书房里磨赠了一会儿——那儿有几位男子一面闲聊一面戴跳舞的手套——最后才加入到博福特太太在深红色客厅门口迎接的客人之中。 阿切尔显然有些紧张不安。看完歌剧他没有回俱乐部（就像公子哥儿们通常那样），而是趁着美好的夜色沿第五大街向上走了一段，然后才回过头朝博福特家的方向走去。他肯定是担心明戈特家的人可能会走得太远，生怕他们会执行明戈特老太太的命令，把奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人带到舞会上来。 从俱乐部包厢的气氛中，他已经意识到那将是多么严重的错误。而且，虽然他无比坚决地要“坚持到底”，但他觉得，他要保护未婚妻的表姐的豪侠热情，没有在歌剧院与她简短交谈之前那么高涨了。 阿切尔漫步走到金黄色客厅（博福特大胆地在里面挂了一幅引起不少争议的裸体画《得胜的爱神》），只见韦兰太太和她的女儿站在舞厅门口。那边，一对对的舞伴已经在地板上滑步，烛光撒落在旋转的纱裙上，撒落在少女们头上戴的雅致的花环上，撒落在少妇们头上浮华的枝形宝石饰品及装饰物上，撒落在光亮的衬衫前胸与上光的新手套上。 韦兰小姐显然正准备加入跳舞的人群。她呆在门口，手中握着铃兰（她没带别的花），脸色有点苍白，真切的兴奋使她两眼灼灼发光。一群男青年和姑娘聚在她的周围，不少人与她握手，笑着与她寒暄。稍稍站开一点的韦兰太太笑容满面，表达出得体的赞赏。很明显，韦兰小姐正在宣布她的订婚消息，而她母亲则装出一副与这种场合相称的家长们不情愿的模样。 阿切尔踌躇了一会儿。订婚消息是按他明确的意愿宣布的，但他的本意却不是这样把自己的幸福公布于众。在拥挤喧闹的舞厅里公布它等于强行剥掉个人秘密的保护层，那本是属于最贴近心灵的东西。他的喜悦非常深沉，所以这种表面的损伤没有触及根本，不过他还是愿意让表面也一样纯洁。令人满意的是，他发现梅·韦兰也有同样的感受。她用眼睛向他投来恳求的目光，仿佛是在说：“别忘记，我们这样做是因为它符合常理。” 任何恳求都不会在阿切尔心中得到比这更快的响应了，然而他仍希望他们之所以必须在此宣布，有一个更充分的理由，而不仅仅是为了可怜的埃伦·奥兰斯卡。韦兰小姐周围的人面带会意的笑容给他让开了路。在接受了对他的那份祝贺之后，他拉着未婚妻走到舞厅中央，把胳膊搭在了她的腰际。 “现在我们用不着非得讲话了，”他望着她那双真诚的眼睛露出笑容说。两人乘着《蓝色多瑙河》柔和的波浪漂流而去。 她没有回话，双唇绽出一丝微笑，但眼神依然淡漠庄重，仿佛正凝神于某种抹不去的幻象。“亲爱的，”阿切尔悄声说，一面用力拉她靠近自己。他坚信，订婚的最初几个小时即使在舞厅里度过，其中也包含着重大与神圣的内容。有这样一位纯洁、美丽、善良的人在身边，将是怎样的一种新生活啊！ 舞会结束了，他们俩既然已成了未婚夫妻，便漫步走到温室里；坐在一片桫椤与山茶的屏障后面，纽兰将她戴着手套的手紧紧压在唇上。 “你知道，我是照你的要求做的，”她说。 “是的，我不能再等待了，”他含笑回答。过了一会儿又补充说：“我只是希望不是在舞会上宣布。” “是的，我知道，”她会意地迎着他的目光说。“不过，毕竟——就是在这儿，我们也是单独在一起，不是吗？” “哦，最亲爱的——永远！”阿切尔喊道。 显然，她将永远理解他，永远讲得体的话。这一发现使得他乐不可支。他开心地接着说：“最糟糕的是我想吻你却吻不到，”说着，他朝温室四周迅速瞥了一眼，弄清他们暂时处于隐蔽之中，便把她揽在怀里，匆匆地吻了一下她的双唇。为了抵消这一出格举动的影响，他把她带到温室不太隐蔽部分的一个长竹椅上。他在她身边坐下，从她的花束上摘下一朵铃兰。她坐着一语不发，整个世界像阳光灿烂的峡谷横在他们脚下。 “你告诉我的表姐埃伦了吗？”过了一会儿她问，仿佛在梦中说话一样。 他醒悟过来，想起他还没有告诉她。要向那位陌生的外籍女子讲这种事，有一种无法克服的反感使他没有说出到了嘴边的话。 “没——我一直没得到机会，”他急忙扯个小谎说。 “噢，”她看上去很失望，但决意温和地推行她的主张。“那么，你一定要讲，因为我也没讲，我不愿让她以为——” “当然，不过话说回来，不是该由你去告诉她吗？” 她沉思了一会儿说：“假如早先有适当的时机，我去说也行。不过现在已经晚了，我想你必须向她说明，我在看歌剧时曾经让你告诉她，那可是我们在这儿告诉大家之前呀。否则她会以为我忘记她了。你知道她是家族的一员，又在外面呆了很久，因而她非常——敏感。” 阿切尔满面红光地望着她。“我亲爱的天使！我当然要告诉她的，”他略带忧虑地朝喧闹的舞厅瞥了一眼。“不过我还没见着她呢。她来了吗？” “没有，她在最后一刻决定不来了。” “最后一刻？”他重复道，她居然会改变主意，这使他十分惊讶。 “是的，她特别喜欢跳舞，”姑娘坦率地回答说。“可是她突然认定她的衣服在舞会上不够漂亮，尽管我们觉得它很美。所以我舅妈只得送她回家了。” “噢——”阿切尔无所谓地说。其实，他这时倒是十分快乐。他的未婚妻竭力回避他们俩在其中长大成人的那个“不快”的阴影，这比什么都使他高兴。 “她心里跟我一样明白她表姐避不露面的真正原因，”他心想。“不过我决不能让她看出一点迹象，让她知道我了解可怜的埃伦·奥兰斯卡名誉上的阴影。”

Chapter 4

In the course of the next day the first of the usual betrothal visitswere exchanged. The New York ritual was precise and inflexible in suchmatters; and in conformity with it Newland Archer first went with hismother and sister to call on Mrs. Welland, after which he and Mrs.Welland and May drove out to old Mrs. Manson Mingott's to receive thatvenerable ancestress's blessing. A visit to Mrs. Manson Mingott was always an amusing episode to theyoung man. The house in itself was already an historic document, thoughnot, of course, as venerable as certain other old family houses inUniversity Place and lower Fifth Avenue. Those were of the purest 1830,with a grim harmony of cabbage- rose-garlanded carpets, rosewoodconsoles, round-arched fire-places with black marble mantels, andimmense glazed book-cases of mahogany; whereas old Mrs. Mingott, who hadbuilt her house later, had bodily cast out the massive furniture of herprime, and mingled with the Mingott heirlooms the frivolous upholsteryof the Second Empire. It was her habit to sit in a window of hersitting-room on the ground floor, as if watching calmly for life andfashion to flow northward to her solitary doors. She seemed in no hurryto have them come, for her patience was equalled by her confidence. Shewas sure that presently the hoardings, the quarries, the one-storysaloons, the wooden green-houses in ragged gardens, and the rocks fromwhich goats surveyed the scene, would vanish before the advance ofresidences as stately as her own--perhaps (for she was an impartialwoman) even statelier; and that the cobble- stones over which the oldclattering omnibuses bumped would be replaced by smooth asphalt, such aspeople reported having seen in Paris. Meanwhile, as every one she caredto see came to HER (and she could fill her rooms as easily as theBeauforts, and without adding a single item to the menu of her suppers),she did not suffer from her geographic isolation. The immense accretion of flesh which had descended on her in middlelife like a flood of lava on a doomed city had changed her from a plumpactive little woman with a neatly-turned foot and ankle into somethingas vast and august as a natural phenomenon. She had accepted thissubmergence as philosophically as all her other trials, and now, inextreme old age, was rewarded by presenting to her mirror an almostunwrinkled expanse of firm pink and white flesh, in the centre of whichthe traces of a small face survived as if awaiting excavation. A flightof smooth double chins led down to the dizzy depths of a still-snowybosom veiled in snowy muslins that were held in place by a miniatureportrait of the late Mr. Mingott; and around and below, wave after waveof black silk surged away over the edges of a capacious armchair, withtwo tiny white hands poised like gulls on the surface of the billows. The burden of Mrs. Manson Mingott's flesh had long since made itimpossible for her to go up and down stairs, and with characteristicindependence she had made her reception rooms upstairs and establishedherself (in flagrant violation of all the New York proprieties) on theground floor of her house; so that, as you sat in her sitting-roomwindow with her, you caught (through a door that was always open, and alooped- back yellow damask portiere) the unexpected vista of a bedroomwith a huge low bed upholstered like a sofa, and a toilet-table withfrivolous lace flounces and a gilt-framed mirror. Her visitors were startled and fascinated by the foreignness of thisarrangement, which recalled scenes in French fiction, and architecturalincentives to immorality such as the simple American had never dreamedof. That was how women with lovers lived in the wicked old societies, inapartments with all the rooms on one floor, and all the indecentpropinquities that their novels described. It amused Newland Archer (whohad secretly situated the love-scenes of "Monsieur de Camors" in Mrs.Mingott's bedroom) to picture her blameless life led in thestage-setting of adultery; but he said to himself, with considerableadmiration, that if a lover had been what she wanted, the intrepid womanwould have had him too. To the general relief the Countess Olenska was not present in hergrandmother's drawing-room during the visit of the betrothed couple.Mrs. Mingott said she had gone out; which, on a day of such glaringsunlight, and at the "shopping hour," seemed in itself an indelicatething for a compromised woman to do. But at any rate it spared them theembarrassment of her presence, and the faint shadow that her unhappypast might seem to shed on their radiant future. The visit went offsuccessfully, as was to have been expected. Old Mrs. Mingott wasdelighted with the engagement, which, being long foreseen by watchfulrelatives, had been carefully passed upon in family council; and theengagement ring, a large thick sapphire set in invisible claws, met withher unqualified admiration. "It's the new setting: of course it shows the stone beautifully, butit looks a little bare to old-fashioned eyes," Mrs. Welland hadexplained, with a conciliatory side-glance at her future son-in-law. "Old-fashioned eyes? I hope you don't mean mine, my dear? I like allthe novelties," said the ancestress, lifting the stone to her smallbright orbs, which no glasses had ever disfigured. "Very handsome," sheadded, returning the jewel; "very liberal. In my time a cameo set inpearls was thought sufficient. But it's the hand that sets off the ring,isn't it, my dear Mr. Archer?" and she waved one of her tiny hands,with small pointed nails and rolls of aged fat encircling the wrist likeivory bracelets. "Mine was modelled in Rome by the great Ferrigiani.You should have May's done: no doubt he'll have it done, my child. Herhand is large--it's these modern sports that spread the joints--but theskin is white.--And when's the wedding to be?" she broke off, fixing hereyes on Archer's face. "Oh--" Mrs. Welland murmured, while the young man, smiling at hisbetrothed, replied: "As soon as ever it can, if only you'll back me up,Mrs. Mingott." "We must give them time to get to know each other a little better,mamma," Mrs. Welland interposed, with the proper affectation ofreluctance; to which the ancestress rejoined: "Know each other?Fiddlesticks! Everybody in New York has always known everybody. Let theyoung man have his way, my dear; don't wait till the bubble's off thewine. Marry them before Lent; I may catch pneumonia any winter now, and Iwant to give the wedding-breakfast." These successive statements were received with the proper expressionsof amusement, incredulity and gratitude; and the visit was breaking upin a vein of mild pleasantry when the door opened to admit the CountessOlenska, who entered in bonnet and mantle followed by the unexpectedfigure of Julius Beaufort. There was a cousinly murmur of pleasure between the ladies, and Mrs.Mingott held out Ferrigiani's model to the banker. "Ha! Beaufort, thisis a rare favour!" (She had an odd foreign way of addressing men bytheir surnames.) "Thanks. I wish it might happen oftener," said the visitor in hiseasy arrogant way. "I'm generally so tied down; but I met the CountessEllen in Madison Square, and she was good enough to let me walk homewith her." "Ah--I hope the house will be gayer, now that Ellen's here!" criedMrs. Mingott with a glorious effrontery. "Sit down--sit down, Beaufort:push up the yellow armchair; now I've got you I want a good gossip. Ihear your ball was magnificent; and I understand you invited Mrs. LemuelStruthers? Well--I've a curiosity to see the woman myself." She had forgotten her relatives, who were drifting out into the hallunder Ellen Olenska's guidance. Old Mrs. Mingott had always professed agreat admiration for Julius Beaufort, and there was a kind of kinship intheir cool domineering way and their short-cuts through theconventions. Now she was eagerly curious to know what had decided theBeauforts to invite (for the first time) Mrs. Lemuel Struthers, thewidow of Struthers's Shoe-polish, who had returned the previous yearfrom a long initiatory sojourn in Europe to lay siege to the tightlittle citadel of New York. "Of course if you and Regina invite her thething is settled. Well, we need new blood and new money--and I hearshe's still very good-looking," the carnivorous old lady declared. In the hall, while Mrs. Welland and May drew on their furs, Archersaw that the Countess Olenska was looking at him with a faintlyquestioning smile. "Of course you know already--about May and me," he said, answeringher look with a shy laugh. "She scolded me for not giving you the newslast night at the Opera: I had her orders to tell you that we wereengaged--but I couldn't, in that crowd." The smile passed from Countess Olenska's eyes to her lips: she lookedyounger, more like the bold brown Ellen Mingott of his boyhood. "Ofcourse I know; yes. And I'm so glad. But one doesn't tell such thingsfirst in a crowd." The ladies were on the threshold and she held out herhand. "Good-bye; come and see me some day," she said, still looking at Archer. In the carriage, on the way down Fifth Avenue, they talked pointedlyof Mrs. Mingott, of her age, her spirit, and all her wonderfulattributes. No one alluded to Ellen Olenska; but Archer knew that Mrs.Welland was thinking: "It's a mistake for Ellen to be seen, the very dayafter her arrival, parading up Fifth Avenue at the crowded hour withJulius Beaufort--" and the young man himself mentally added: "And sheought to know that a man who's just engaged doesn't spend his timecalling on married women. But I daresay in the set she's lived in theydo--they never do anything else." And, in spite of the cosmopolitanviews on which he prided himself, he thanked heaven that he was a NewYorker, and about to ally himself with one of his own kind.

第二天，进行了第一轮例行的订婚互访。在这类事情上，纽约的礼规一丝不苟，毫无变动可言。遵照这一礼节，纽兰·阿切尔先与母亲、妹妹一起去拜访了韦兰太太，然后再与韦兰太太和梅乘车去曼森·明戈特老太太家接受这位尊敬的老祖宗的祝福。 拜访曼森·明戈特太太永远是年轻人的一件乐事。那房子本身就是一个历史的见证，尽管它自然不会像大学区与第五大街南部某些住宅那样令人肃然起敬。那些住宅清一色是1830年建的，里面那些百叶蔷该图案的地毯、黄檀木的蜗形支腿桌案、黑大理石面饰的圆拱形壁炉，还有锃亮的红木大书橱，显得既古板又协调。而明戈特老太太的住宅建得晚一些，她悉数摈弃了年轻时代那些笨重的家具，将第二帝国轻浮的室内装饰品与明戈特的传家宝熔为一炉。她坐在一楼客厅的窗户后面，仿佛是在安详地等候着社交活动与时尚的潮流滚滚北上，流向她冷落的门坎。她看起来并不急于让它们来到，因为她的耐心与她的信心不相上下。她深信那些囤积物与猎获物，那些单层的厅房、荒芜花园里的木制暖房以及山羊登临的石基，不久就会随着新住宅的推进而提前消逝，而那些新的宅邸将跟她的家一样富丽堂皇——或许（她是个不带偏见的女人）比她的更为壮观。而且，那些老式公共马车卡嗒卡嗒颠簸于其上的卵石路也将被平滑的柏油路面取代，就像人们传闻在巴黎见过的那样。同时，由于她乐于接见的人全都过来看她（她能像博福特夫妇那样，轻而易举把她家的客厅塞满，而且无须往晚餐菜单里加一道菜），她也并不因为住处偏僻而受与世隔绝之苦。 脂肪的激增在她中年时期突然降临，就像火山熔岩降临一个行将覆没的城市那样凶猛，使她由一位丰满好动、步伐灵活的小巧女人变成如自然奇观般的庞然大物。她像对待其他一切磨难一样达观地接受了这一大灾大难。如今，她在耄耋之年终于得到了报偿：镜子里的她，是一堆几乎没有皱纹的白里透红的结实肌肤，在其中央，一张小小的面孔形迹犹存，仿佛在等待着挖掘；光溜溜的双下巴下方，是掩映在雪白的麦斯林纱底下令人眩目的雪白的胸膛，一枚已故明戈特先生的微形像章固定其间；四周及以下部位，一波接一波的黑丝绸在大扶手椅的边棱上流泻而下，两只雪白的小手摆在那里犹如海面上的两只海鸥。 曼森·明戈特太太脂肪的负担早已使她无法上下楼梯，她以特有的独立精神将客厅设在楼上，并且（公然违背纽约的所有行为规范）在住宅的一楼居住；因此，与她一起坐在起居室的窗口，就能意外地（透过始终开着的门和卷起的打环黄锦缎门帘）看到卧室。里面有一张装饰得像沙发一样的特大矮床，一张梳妆台，上面摆着花哨的丝带荷叶边，还有一面镀金框架的镜子。 客人们对这种布置的异国情调既惊讶又为之倾倒。它使人想起法国小说中的那些场景，以及单纯的美国人做梦也不会想到的那些伤风败俗行径的建筑学诱因。在旧时不道德的上流社会里，那些偷情的女人其住所都是如此。在她们居住的公寓里，所有的房间都在同一层，从而可以使她们能像小说中描写的那样轻而易举地暗度陈仓。想象她在通奸的舞台背景中过着白壁无瑕的生活，纽兰·阿切尔（他暗中把《卡莫斯先生》中的爱情场面确定在明戈特太太的卧室里）觉得颇为有趣，但与此同时，他又在心里津津有味地想道：假如有个情人符合她的要求，这位刚毅的女人一定也会投入他的怀抱。 令大家都感到宽慰的是，在这对订婚青年造访时，奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人并不在她祖母的客厅里。明戈特太太说她外出了。在这样一个阳光明媚的日子，又是在“购物时间”，一个受过创伤的女子外出，本身虽不算得体，但不管怎样，却免去了他俩面对她的窘境，还避免了她不幸的过去可能投到他们光辉前程上的淡淡阴影。正如事前预料的那样，这次拜访进展十分顺利。明戈特老太太对这桩婚事很中意，留心的亲戚们早有预见，并在家族的会议上给予了认可。那枚订婚戒指镶着一块很厚的大蓝宝石，嵌在几个隐形的爪内，得到了她毫无保留的赞赏。 “是新式镶嵌：宝石当然显得十分完美，不过老眼光的人觉得它有点秃，”韦兰太太解释说，一面用眼睛的余光安抚地看着她未来的女婿。 “老眼光？我希望你不是指我吧，亲爱的？我喜欢一切新奇的东西，”老祖母说着，把钻戒举到她那双明亮的小眼睛跟前，她的眼睛从未受过眼镜的损伤。“非常漂亮，”她又说，一面把钻戒还回去，“非常独特。我年轻的时候，用一块彩玉镶在几颗珍珠之间就觉得很好了。不过戒指是靠手来衬托的，对吧，亲爱的阿切尔先生？”她挥动着一只留了尖指甲的小手说，老年肥胖形成的圈圈如象牙手镯一般环绕着她的手腕。“我的戒指是罗马著名的费里加尼设计的。你该找人为梅定做，毫无疑问他会的，我的孩子。她的手很大——现在的这些运动把人的关关节节都变大了——不过皮肤还是很白的。——可婚礼什么时候举行呢？”她收住话头，两眼紧盯着阿切尔的脸。 “哦——”韦兰太太嗫嚅道。年轻人却朝未婚妻露出笑脸，回答说：“越快越好，明戈特太太，只要你肯支持我。” “妈妈，我们得给他们时问，让他们互相多了解一点，”韦兰太太插言说，同时又恰如其分地装出一副不情愿的样子。老祖母回言道：“互相了解？瞎说！在纽约，谁不了解谁！让年轻人按他自己的方式去办吧，我亲爱的，可别等得美酒走了味。大斋节前就让他们成婚。到了冬天我哪一天都可能染上肺炎，可我还想给他们举办婚礼喜宴呢。” 对她接二连三的表态，客人相宜作出了喜悦、怀疑、感激的反应。正在这时，门被打开，迎进来了奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人。她戴着帽子和面纱进了屋，身后还跟着个不期而至的朱利叶斯·博福特。温和愉悦的叙谈气氛中断了。 夫人与小姐愉快地说起表姐妹间的悄悄话，明戈特太太则把费里加尼款式的戒指拿给银行家看。“哈！博福特，这可是难得的优待！”（她用奇特的异国方式直呼男士的姓。） “多谢多谢，我希望这种事多有几次，”客人妄自尊大地从容说道。“我老是脱不开身；在麦迪逊广场遇上了埃伦伯爵夫人，她十分客气地要我陪她回家。” “啊——既然埃伦回来了，我希望这个家热闹起来！”明戈特太太毫无顾忌地大声说。“请坐——请坐，博福特：把那把黄扶手椅推过来；既然你来了，咱们就要好好聊一聊。听说你家的舞会叭叭叫，据我所知，你还邀请了勒姆尔·斯特拉瑟斯太太？哎——我倒很想亲自见见那个女人。” 她忘记了自己的亲眷，他们正在埃伦·奥兰斯卡带领下向外面的门厅移动。明戈特老太太一贯显得对朱利叶斯·博福特非常赞赏，他们俩在专横无理及对待传统的删繁就简方面有某种相似之处。此时她急于了解是什么原因促使博福特夫妇下决心（首次）邀请了斯特拉瑟斯的“鞋油”寡妇勒姆尔·斯特拉瑟斯太太。她一年前刚结束在欧洲漫长的启蒙侨居，回来围攻纽约这个坚固的小城堡。“当然，如果你和里吉纳请了她，事情就成定局了。嗯，我们需要新鲜血液和新鲜钱——而且我听说她依然十分漂亮，”这位爱吃肉的老夫人断言说。 门厅里，韦兰太太与梅在穿毛皮外衣的时候，阿切尔见奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人略有疑问地对他微笑着。 “当然你已经知道了——我和梅的事，”他说，并腼腆地一笑回答她的注视。“她责备我昨晚在歌剧院没把消息告诉你：她曾嘱咐我把我们订婚的事告诉你——但守着那么多人，我未能办到。” 笑容从奥兰斯卡夫人的眼睛传到她的双唇，她看上去更年轻了，更像他孩提时那个大胆的棕发小姑娘埃伦·明戈特。“是的，我当然知道，而且非常高兴。不过这样的事是不会在拥挤的人群中首先宣布的。”另两位女士已经到了门口，她伸出手来。 “再见。改日过来看我，”她说，眼睛依然看着阿切尔。 沿第五大街下行，他们在马车里重点谈论的是明戈特太太：她的年纪，她的精神，以及她那些不可思议的性情。没有人提及埃伦·奥兰斯卡；然而阿切尔知道韦兰太太心里正在想：“埃伦的露面是个错误——就在她刚回来的第二天，在拥挤时刻与朱利叶斯·博福特一起沿第五大街大摇大摆地走——”而年轻人心里补充道：“她还应当知道，一个刚订婚的男人一般是不会花时间去拜访已婚女子的。不过我敢说，在她生活过的那个圈子里，他们一定是那样做的——保准没错。”而且，尽管他自夸了解那些大都市人的观点，却谢天谢地自己是个纽约人，而且就要与他的一位同类联姻。

Chapter 5

The next evening old Mr. Sillerton Jackson came to dine with the Archers. Mrs. Archer was a shy woman and shrank from society; but she liked tobe well-informed as to its doings. Her old friend Mr. Sillerton Jacksonapplied to the investigation of his friends' affairs the patience of acollector and the science of a naturalist; and his sister, Miss SophyJackson, who lived with him, and was entertained by all the people whocould not secure her much-sought-after brother, brought home bits ofminor gossip that filled out usefully the gaps in his picture. Therefore, whenever anything happened that Mrs. Archer wanted to knowabout, she asked Mr. Jackson to dine; and as she honoured few peoplewith her invitations, and as she and her daughter Janey were anexcellent audience, Mr. Jackson usually came himself instead of sendinghis sister. If he could have dictated all the conditions, he would havechosen the evenings when Newland was out; not because the young man wasuncongenial to him (the two got on capitally at their club) but becausethe old anecdotist sometimes felt, on Newland's part, a tendency toweigh his evidence that the ladies of the family never showed. Mr. Jackson, if perfection had been attainable on earth, would alsohave asked that Mrs. Archer's food should be a little better. But thenNew York, as far back as the mind of man could travel, had been dividedinto the two great fundamental groups of the Mingotts and Mansons andall their clan, who cared about eating and clothes and money, and theArcher-Newland- van-der-Luyden tribe, who were devoted to travel,horticulture and the best fiction, and looked down on the grosser formsof pleasure. You couldn't have everything, after all. If you dined with the LovellMingotts you got canvas-back and terrapin and vintage wines; at AdelineArcher's you could talk about Alpine scenery and "The Marble Faun"; andluckily the Archer Madeira had gone round the Cape. Therefore when afriendly summons came from Mrs. Archer, Mr. Jackson, who was a trueeclectic, would usually say to his sister: "I've been a little goutysince my last dinner at the Lovell Mingotts'--it will do me good to dietat Adeline's." Mrs. Archer, who had long been a widow, lived with her son anddaughter in West Twenty-eighth Street. An upper floor was dedicated toNewland, and the two women squeezed themselves into narrower quartersbelow. In an unclouded harmony of tastes and interests they cultivatedferns in Wardian cases, made macrame lace and wool embroidery on linen,collected American revolutionary glazed ware, subscribed to "GoodWords," and read Ouida's novels for the sake of the Italian atmosphere.(They preferred those about peasant life, because of the descriptions ofscenery and the pleasanter sentiments, though in general they likednovels about people in society, whose motives and habits were morecomprehensible, spoke severely of Dickens, who "had never drawn agentleman," and considered Thackeray less at home in the great worldthan Bulwer--who, however, was beginning to be thought old-fashioned.)Mrs. and Miss Archer were both great lovers of scenery. It was what theyprincipally sought and admired on their occasional travels abroad;considering architecture and painting as subjects for men, and chieflyfor learned persons who read Ruskin. Mrs. Archer had been born aNewland, and mother and daughter, who were as like as sisters, wereboth, as people said, "true Newlands"; tall, pale, and slightlyround-shouldered, with long noses, sweet smiles and a kind of droopingdistinction like that in certain faded Reynolds portraits. Theirphysical resemblance would have been complete if an elderly embonpointhad not stretched Mrs. Archer's black brocade, while Miss Archer's brownand purple poplins hung, as the years went on, more and more slackly onher virgin frame. Mentally, the likeness between them, as Newland was aware, was lesscomplete than their identical mannerisms often made it appear. The longhabit of living together in mutually dependent intimacy had given themthe same vocabulary, and the same habit of beginning their phrases"Mother thinks" or "Janey thinks," according as one or the other wishedto advance an opinion of her own; but in reality, while Mrs. Archer'sserene unimaginativeness rested easily in the accepted and familiar,Janey was subject to starts and aberrations of fancy welling up fromsprings of suppressed romance. Mother and daughter adored each other and revered their son andbrother; and Archer loved them with a tenderness made compunctious anduncritical by the sense of their exaggerated admiration, and by hissecret satisfaction in it. After all, he thought it a good thing for aman to have his authority respected in his own house, even if his senseof humour sometimes made him question the force of his mandate. On this occasion the young man was very sure that Mr. Jackson wouldrather have had him dine out; but he had his own reasons for not doingso. Of course old Jackson wanted to talk about Ellen Olenska, and ofcourse Mrs. Archer and Janey wanted to hear what he had to tell. Allthree would be slightly embarrassed by Newland's presence, now that hisprospective relation to the Mingott clan had been made known; and theyoung man waited with an amused curiosity to see how they would turn thedifficulty. They began, obliquely, by talking about Mrs. Lemuel Struthers. "It's a pity the Beauforts asked her," Mrs. Archer said gently. "But then Regina always does what he tells her; and BEAUFORT--" "Certain nuances escape Beaufort," said Mr. Jackson, cautiouslyinspecting the broiled shad, and wondering for the thousandth time whyMrs. Archer's cook always burnt the roe to a cinder. (Newland, who hadlong shared his wonder, could always detect it in the older man'sexpression of melancholy disapproval.) "Oh, necessarily; Beaufort is a vulgar man," said Mrs. Archer. "Mygrandfather Newland always used to say to my mother: `Whatever you do,don't let that fellow Beaufort be introduced to the girls.' But at leasthe's had the advantage of associating with gentlemen; in England too,they say. It's all very mysterious--" She glanced at Janey and paused.She and Janey knew every fold of the Beaufort mystery, but in publicMrs. Archer continued to assume that the subject was not one for theunmarried. "But this Mrs. Struthers," Mrs. Archer continued; "what did you say SHE was, Sillerton?" "Out of a mine: or rather out of the saloon at the head of the pit.Then with Living Wax-Works, touring New England. After the police brokeTHAT up, they say she lived--" Mr. Jackson in his turn glanced at Janey,whose eyes began to bulge from under her prominent lids. There werestill hiatuses for her in Mrs. Struthers's past. "Then," Mr. Jackson continued (and Archer saw he was wondering why noone had told the butler never to slice cucumbers with a steel knife),"then Lemuel Struthers came along. They say his advertiser used thegirl's head for the shoe-polish posters; her hair's intensely black, youknow--the Egyptian style. Anyhow, he-- eventually--married her." Therewere volumes of innuendo in the way the "eventually" was spaced, andeach syllable given its due stress. "Oh, well--at the pass we've come to nowadays, it doesn't matter,"said Mrs. Archer indifferently. The ladies were not really interested inMrs. Struthers just then; the subject of Ellen Olenska was too freshand too absorbing to them. Indeed, Mrs. Struthers's name had beenintroduced by Mrs. Archer only that she might presently be able to say:"And Newland's new cousin--Countess Olenska? Was SHE at the ball too?" There was a faint touch of sarcasm in the reference to her son, andArcher knew it and had expected it. Even Mrs. Archer, who was seldomunduly pleased with human events, had been altogether glad of her son'sengagement. ("Especially after that silly business with Mrs. Rushworth,"as she had remarked to Janey, alluding to what had once seemed toNewland a tragedy of which his soul would always bear the scar.) There was no better match in New York than May Welland, look at thequestion from whatever point you chose. Of course such a marriage wasonly what Newland was entitled to; but young men are so foolish andincalculable--and some women so ensnaring and unscrupulous--that it wasnothing short of a miracle to see one's only son safe past the SirenIsle and in the haven of a blameless domesticity. All this Mrs. Archer felt, and her son knew she felt; but he knewalso that she had been perturbed by the premature announcement of hisengagement, or rather by its cause; and it was for that reason--becauseon the whole he was a tender and indulgent master--that he had stayed athome that evening. "It's not that I don't approve of the Mingotts'esprit de corps; but why Newland's engagement should be mixed up withthat Olenska woman's comings and goings I don't see," Mrs. Archergrumbled to Janey, the only witness of her slight lapses from perfectsweetness. She had behaved beautifully--and in beautiful behaviour she wasunsurpassed--during the call on Mrs. Welland; but Newland knew (and hisbetrothed doubtless guessed) that all through the visit she and Janeywere nervously on the watch for Madame Olenska's possible intrusion; andwhen they left the house together she had permitted herself to say toher son: "I'm thankful that Augusta Welland received us alone." These indications of inward disturbance moved Archer the more that hetoo felt that the Mingotts had gone a little too far. But, as it wasagainst all the rules of their code that the mother and son should everallude to what was uppermost in their thoughts, he simply replied: "Oh,well, there's always a phase of family parties to be gone through whenone gets engaged, and the sooner it's over the better." At which hismother merely pursed her lips under the lace veil that hung down fromher grey velvet bonnet trimmed with frosted grapes. Her revenge, he felt--her lawful revenge--would be to "draw" Mr.Jackson that evening on the Countess Olenska; and, having publicly donehis duty as a future member of the Mingott clan, the young man had noobjection to hearing the lady discussed in private--except that thesubject was already beginning to bore him. Mr. Jackson had helped himself to a slice of the tepid filet whichthe mournful butler had handed him with a look as sceptical as his own,and had rejected the mushroom sauce after a scarcely perceptible sniff.He looked baffled and hungry, and Archer reflected that he wouldprobably finish his meal on Ellen Olenska. Mr. Jackson leaned back in his chair, and glanced up at the candlelitArchers, Newlands and van der Luydens hanging in dark frames on thedark walls. "Ah, how your grandfather Archer loved a good dinner, my dearNewland!" he said, his eyes on the portrait of a plump full-chestedyoung man in a stock and a blue coat, with a view of a white-columnedcountry-house behind him. "Well--well--well . . . I wonder what he wouldhave said to all these foreign marriages!" Mrs. Archer ignored the allusion to the ancestral cuisine and Mr.Jackson continued with deliberation: "No, she was NOT at the ball." "Ah--" Mrs. Archer murmured, in a tone that implied: "She had that decency." "Perhaps the Beauforts don't know her," Janey suggested, with her artless malice. Mr. Jackson gave a faint sip, as if he had been tasting invisibleMadeira. "Mrs. Beaufort may not--but Beaufort certainly does, for shewas seen walking up Fifth Avenue this afternoon with him by the whole ofNew York." "Mercy--" moaned Mrs. Archer, evidently perceiving the uselessness oftrying to ascribe the actions of foreigners to a sense of delicacy. "I wonder if she wears a round hat or a bonnet in the afternoon,"Janey speculated. "At the Opera I know she had on dark blue velvet,perfectly plain and flat-- like a night-gown." "Janey!" said her mother; and Miss Archer blushed and tried to look audacious. "It was, at any rate, in better taste not to go to the ball," Mrs. Archer continued. A spirit of perversity moved her son to rejoin: "I don't think it wasa question of taste with her. May said she meant to go, and thendecided that the dress in question wasn't smart enough." Mrs. Archer smiled at this confirmation of her inference. "PoorEllen," she simply remarked; adding compassionately: "We must alwaysbear in mind what an eccentric bringing-up Medora Manson gave her. Whatcan you expect of a girl who was allowed to wear black satin at hercoming-out ball?" "Ah--don't I remember her in it!" said Mr. Jackson; adding: "Poorgirl!" in the tone of one who, while enjoying the memory, had fullyunderstood at the time what the sight portended. "It's odd," Janey remarked, "that she should have kept such an uglyname as Ellen. I should have changed it to Elaine." She glanced aboutthe table to see the effect of this. Her brother laughed. "Why Elaine?" "I don't know; it sounds more--more Polish," said Janey, blushing. "It sounds more conspicuous; and that can hardly be what she wishes," said Mrs. Archer distantly. "Why not?" broke in her son, growing suddenly argumentative. "Whyshouldn't she be conspicuous if she chooses? Why should she slink aboutas if it were she who had disgraced herself? She's `poor Ellen'certainly, because she had the bad luck to make a wretched marriage; butI don't see that that's a reason for hiding her head as if she were theculprit." "That, I suppose," said Mr. Jackson, speculatively, "is the line the Mingotts mean to take." The young man reddened. "I didn't have to wait for their cue, ifthat's what you mean, sir. Madame Olenska has had an unhappy life: thatdoesn't make her an outcast." "There are rumours," began Mr. Jackson, glancing at Janey. "Oh, I know: the secretary," the young man took him up. "Nonsense,mother; Janey's grown-up. They say, don't they," he went on, "that thesecretary helped her to get away from her brute of a husband, who kepther practically a prisoner? Well, what if he did? I hope there isn't aman among us who wouldn't have done the same in such a case." Mr. Jackson glanced over his shoulder to say to the sad butler:"Perhaps . . . that sauce . . . just a little, after all--"; then,having helped himself, he remarked: "I'm told she's looking for a house.She means to live here." "I hear she means to get a divorce," said Janey boldly. "I hope she will!" Archer exclaimed. The word had fallen like a bombshell in the pure and tranquilatmosphere of the Archer dining-room. Mrs. Archer raised her delicateeye-brows in the particular curve that signified: "The butler--" and theyoung man, himself mindful of the bad taste of discussing such intimatematters in public, hastily branched off into an account of his visit toold Mrs. Mingott. After dinner, according to immemorial custom, Mrs. Archer and Janeytrailed their long silk draperies up to the drawing-room, where, whilethe gentlemen smoked below stairs, they sat beside a Carcel lamp with anengraved globe, facing each other across a rosewood work-table with agreen silk bag under it, and stitched at the two ends of a tapestry bandof field-flowers destined to adorn an "occasional" chair in thedrawing- room of young Mrs. Newland Archer. While this rite was in progress in the drawing-room, Archer settledMr. Jackson in an armchair near the fire in the Gothic library andhanded him a cigar. Mr. Jackson sank into the armchair withsatisfaction, lit his cigar with perfect confidence (it was Newland whobought them), and stretching his thin old ankles to the coals, said:"You say the secretary merely helped her to get away, my dear fellow?Well, he was still helping her a year later, then; for somebody met 'emliving at Lausanne together." Newland reddened. "Living together? Well, why not? Who had the rightto make her life over if she hadn't? I'm sick of the hypocrisy thatwould bury alive a woman of her age if her husband prefers to live withharlots." He stopped and turned away angrily to light his cigar. "Women oughtto be free--as free as we are," he declared, making a discovery of whichhe was too irritated to measure the terrific consequences. Mr. Sillerton Jackson stretched his ankles nearer the coals and emitted a sardonic whistle. "Well," he said after a pause, "apparently Count Olenski takes yourview; for I never heard of his having lifted a finger to get his wifeback."

第二天晚上，老西勒顿·杰克逊先生前来与阿切尔一家共进晚餐。 阿切尔太太是位腼腆的女人。她畏避社交界，但对其中的种种活动却喜欢了解得一清二楚。她的老朋友西勒顿·杰克逊善于将收藏家的耐心与博物学家的知识应用于对朋友们私事的调查，而与他同住的胞妹索菲·杰克逊，受到那些无法接触她那位广受欢迎的兄长的人们的款待，则把闲言碎语带回家来，有效地充实他的生动描述。 因此，每有阿切尔太太想了解的事情发生，她便请杰克逊先生前来一聚。由于蒙她邀请的人寥若晨星，由于她与她的女儿詹尼都是极出色的听众，杰克逊先生通常都是亲自赴约，而不是派他的妹妹代劳。假如一切都能由他作主，他会选择纽兰不在家的晚上前来，这并非因为年轻人与他情趣不投（他两人在俱乐部相处甚笃），而是由于这位喜谈轶闻的老人有时候感到，纽兰有一种惦量他的证据的倾向，这在女眷们身上却是绝对见不到的。 假如能做到尽善尽美，杰克逊先生还会要求阿切尔太太的饭菜稍加改善。然而那时的纽约上流社会，自人们能记得的时候起就一直分成两大派。一派是明戈特与曼森两姓及其宗族，他们关心吃、穿与金钱；另一派是阿切尔一纽兰一范德卢顿家族，他们倾心于旅游、园艺以及最佳的小说，对粗俗的享乐形式则不屑一顾。 毕竟，一个人不可能好事样样有份。假如你与洛弗尔·明戈特一家共餐，你可以享用灰背野鸭、水龟和陈年佳酿；而在艾德琳·阿切尔家，你却可以高谈阔论阿尔卑斯山的风景和“大理石的半人半羊神像”，而且幸运的是，那位阿切尔·马迪拉曾经游历过好望角。因此，当阿切尔太太发来友好的召唤时，喜欢兼收并蓄的杰克逊先生往往会对妹妹说：“上次在洛弗尔·明戈特家吃饭以后我一直有点痛风——到艾德琳家忌忌口对我会有好处的。” 寡居多年的阿切尔太太与儿子、女儿住在西28街。二楼全部归纽兰专用，两个女人挤在楼下的小房间里。一家人兴趣爱好和谐一致，他们在沃德箱内种蕨类植物，织花边饰带，用亚麻布做毛绣，收藏独立战争时期上釉的器皿，订阅《名言》杂志，并为了追求意大利情调而读韦达的小说。（由于风景描写与情调欢快的缘故，他们更爱读反映农民生活的小说，尽管总体上他们是喜欢描写上流社会人物的作品，因为这些人的动机与习惯容易理解。他们不喜欢狄更斯，因为此人从未刻画过一位绅士。他们还认为，对贵族社会萨克雷不及布尔沃通晓，不过人们已开始觉得后者已经过时。） 阿切尔太太与阿切尔小姐都极爱秀丽的风光，这是她们在偶尔进行的国外旅行中主要的追求与憧憬。她们认为，建筑与绘画是属于男人的课题，而且主要属于那些读过拉斯金著作的有学问的人。阿切尔太太天生是纽兰家的一员，母女俩像姐妹般相像，如人们说的，她们都属于纯正的“纽兰家族”：身材高大，脸色苍白，肩膀略圆，长长的鼻子，甜甜的笑容，还有一种目光低垂的特征，就像雷诺兹某些褪了色的画像里画的那样。不过年迈发福已使阿切尔太太身上的黑色缎服绷得紧而又紧，而阿切尔小姐穿的棕紫色的毛织衣服，却在她那处女的身架上一年比一年宽松。不然的话，她们形体上的相似真可说是维妙维肖了。 就纽兰所知，她们在精神领域的相似却不像她们相同的习性所表现的那样一致。长期的共同生活、相互依存的亲情赋予她们相同的语汇以及开口讲话时相同的习惯。无论哪一位想提出自己的意见时，总是先说“妈妈以为”或“詹尼以为”；但实际上，阿切尔太太却是明显地缺乏想像力，容易满足于公认的事实与熟悉的东西，而詹尼却容易受幻想支配，产生冲动和越轨，那些幻想随时会从压抑的浪漫喷泉中迸发出来。 母女俩相互敬慕，并且都尊重她们的儿子和兄长。而阿切尔也满怀柔情地爱着她们俩，她们对他过分的赞赏使他惴惴不安，他从中得到的内心满足又令他失去鉴别力。他想，一个男人的权威在自己家中受到尊重毕竟是件好事，尽管他的幽默感有时也使他怀疑自己得到的信赖到底有多大威力。 这一次年轻人十分肯定杰克逊先生宁愿让他外出赴宴，然而他有自己的理由不照此办理。 老杰克逊当然是想谈论埃伦·奥兰斯卡的事，阿切尔太太与詹尼当然也想听一听他要讲的内容，三个人都会由于纽兰的在场而略显尴尬：因为他与明戈特家族未来的关系已经公之于众。年轻人饶有兴趣地想看一看，他们将如何解决这一难题。 他们转弯抹角地从勒姆尔·斯特拉瑟斯太太开始谈起。 “遗憾的是博福特夫妇还请了她，”阿切尔太太态度温和地说。“不过话又说回来了，里吉纳总是照他的吩咐办事，而博福特——” “博福特对细节问题常常是不加留意，”杰克逊先生说，一面仔细审视着盘里的烤河鲱。他第一千次地纳闷，阿切尔太太的厨师为何老是把鱼子给烧成灰渣。（纽兰早就与他持有同样的困惑，且总能够从老人阴沉非难的脸色中看出这一点。） “嗯，那是自然啰；博福特是个粗人嘛，”阿切尔太太说，“我外公纽兰过去老对我母亲说：‘你干什么都成，可千万别把博福特那个家伙介绍给姑娘们。’可他起码在结交绅士方面已占据了优势；在英国的时候据说也是如此。事情非常神秘——”她瞥了詹尼一眼，收住话头。她与詹尼对博福特的秘密了如指掌，不过在公开场合，阿切尔太太却继续装出这话题不适合未婚女子的样子。 “不过那位斯特拉瑟斯太太，”阿切尔太太接着说，“你说她是干什么的，西勒顿？” “她来自矿区：或者不如说来自矿井口上一个酒馆。后来跟随‘活蜡像’剧团在新英格兰巡回演出，剧团被警方解散之后，人们说她跟——”这次轮到杰克逊先生朝詹尼瞥了一眼，她的两眼开始从突起的眼睑底下向外膨胀。对她来说，斯特拉瑟斯太太的历史仍有若干空白之处。 “后来，”杰克逊先生接着说（阿切尔发现他正纳闷为什么没有人吩咐仆人决不能用钢刀切黄瓜），“后来勒姆尔·斯特拉瑟斯出现了。人们说，他的广告商用那姑娘的头做鞋油广告画，她的头发漆黑，你知道——是埃及型的。总之他——最后终于——娶了她。”他在给“最后终于”几个字留出的间隔中，隐含着丰富的寓意，每一个音节都作了充分的强调。 “唉，可这——按我们如今面临的尴尬局面来说，也算不了什么，”阿切尔太太冷淡地说、此刻两位女士真正感兴趣的并非斯特拉瑟斯太太，因为埃伦·奥兰斯卡的话题对她们太新鲜、太有魅力了。的确，阿切尔太太之所以提起斯特拉瑟斯太太，只不过为了可以十分便当地说：“还有纽兰那位新表姐——奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人？她也在舞会上吗？” 她提到儿子的时候，话里略带一点讽刺。阿切尔自然听得一清二楚，而且一点也不觉得意外。世间人事很少让她称心如意的阿切尔太太，对儿子的订婚却是一百个高兴。（“特别是在他与拉什沃思太太那桩蠢事之后，”她曾对詹尼这样说。她指的那件事，纽兰曾经视为一场悲剧，将在他灵魂上留下永难磨灭的伤痕。）无论你从何种角度考虑，纽约再也没有比梅·韦兰更好的姑娘了；当然，这样一段姻缘也只有纽兰才能配得上。可年轻男人却都那么傻，那么缺少心计，而有些女人又那样不知羞耻地设置圈套。所以，看到自己惟一的儿子安然无恙地通过莎琳岛，驶进无可挑剔的家庭生活的港湾，这完全是一种奇迹。 这一切阿切尔太太都感觉到了，她儿子也知道她感觉到了。但是，他同时还知道，她被过早宣布他的订婚消息搅得很不安，或者不如说被过早宣布的原因搅得很不安。正是由于这个原因——因为总体上讲他是个极为温情宽容的人——今天晚上他才留在家中。“我并非不赞成明戈特家的集体精神；可为什么要把纽兰的订婚与奥兰斯卡那个女人的事搅在一起，我弄不明白，”阿切尔太太对詹尼抱怨说，后者是她稍欠温柔的惟一见证人。 在对韦兰太太的拜访中，她一直是举止优雅的；而她的优雅举止是无与伦比的。不过纽兰明白（他的未婚妻无疑也猜得出），在整个拜访过程中，她和詹尼都紧张地提防着奥兰斯卡夫人的闯入；当他们一起离开那所住宅时，她不加掩饰地对儿子说：“我很高兴奥古斯塔·韦兰单独接待了我们。” 这些内心不安的暗示更加让阿切尔感动，以致他也觉得明戈特家走得有点太远了。但是，母亲与儿子之间谈论心中刚生的念头，是完全违背他们的道德规范的，所以他只是回答说：“唉，一个人订婚后总要参加一系列的家族聚会，这种活动结束得越快越好。”听了这话，他母亲只是隔着从饰有霜冻葡萄的灰丝绒帽上垂下的网状面纱撇了撇嘴。 他觉得，她的报复——她的合法的报复——就是要在今晚从杰克逊先生口中“引出”奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人的事。年轻人既然已经当众尽了明戈特家族未来成员的义务，他并不反对听一听对那位夫人的私下议论——只不过这话题已经开始让他感到厌烦。 杰克逊先生吃了一片那位脸色阴沉的男仆带着跟他相同的怀疑目光递给他的半冷不热的鱼片。他用让人难以觉察的动作嗅了嗅蘑菇浇头，拒绝了它。他脸色沮丧，样子很饿。阿切尔心想，他很可能要靠谈论埃伦·奥兰斯卡来充饥了。 杰克逊先生在椅子里向后靠了靠，抬眼看了看烛光下挂在昏暗墙壁上深色相框里的阿切尔们、纽兰们，以及范德卢顿们。 “唉，你的祖父阿切尔多么喜爱丰盛的晚餐啊，亲爱的纽兰！”他说，眼睛盯着一位胖胖的胸部饱满的年轻人的画像，那人打着宽领带，穿一件蓝外套，身后是一所带白色圆柱的乡间别墅。“可——可——可不知他会如何看待这些异国婚姻！” 阿切尔太太没有理睬他有关老祖母的菜肴的话，杰克逊先生从容地接下去说：“不，她没到舞会上去。” “噢——”阿切尔太太低声说，那口气仿佛是说：“她总算还知礼。” “也许博福特夫妇不认识她，”詹尼带着不加掩饰的敌意推测说。 杰克逊先生轻轻呷了一口，仿佛是在想象中品尝马德拉葡萄酒。“博福特太太可能不认识，但博福特却肯定认识，因为今天下午全纽约的人都看见她和他一起沿第五大街散步。” “我的天——”阿切尔太太痛苦地呻吟道。她显然明白，想把外国人的这种行径与高雅的概念挂上钩简直是徒劳。 “不知下午她戴的是圆檐帽还是软帽，”詹尼猜测说。“我知道她在着歌剧时穿的是深蓝色天鹅绒，普普通通的，就像睡衣一样。” “詹尼！”她母亲说；阿切尔小姐脸一红，同时想装出无所顾忌的样子。 “不管怎么说，她没有去舞会，总算是知趣的了，”阿切尔太太接着说。 一种乖僻的情绪，使做儿子的接腔道：“我认为这不是她知趣不知趣的问题。梅说她本来是打算去的，只是后来又觉得你们刚刚说到的那身衣服不够漂亮而已。” 阿切尔太太见儿子用这样的方式证实她的推断，仅仅报之一笑。“可怜的埃伦，”她只这么说了一句，接着又同情地补充道：“我们什么时候都不能忘记，梅多拉·曼森对她进行了什么稀奇古怪的培养教育。在进入社交界的舞会上，居然让她穿黑缎子衣服，你又能指望她会怎样呢？” “哎呀——她穿的那身衣服我还记得呢！”杰克逊先生说。他接着又补一句：“可怜的姑娘！”那口气既表明他记着那件事，又表明他当时就充分意识到那光景预兆着什么。 “真奇怪，”詹尼说，“她竞一直沿用埃伦这么个难听的名字。假若是我早就改成伊莱恩了。”她环顾一眼餐桌，看这句话产生了什么效果。 她哥哥失声笑了起来。“为什么要叫伊莱恩？” “不知道，听起来更——更有波兰味，”詹尼涨红了脸说。 “这名字听起来太引人注意，她恐怕不会乐意，”阿切尔太太漠然地说。 “为什么不？”儿子插言道，他突然变得很爱争论。“如果她愿意，为什么就不能引人注意？她为什么就该躲躲闪闪，仿佛自己给自己丢了脸似的？她当然是‘可怜的埃伦’，因为她不幸结下了倒霉的婚姻。但我不认为她因此就得像罪犯一样躲起来。” “我想，”杰克逊先生沉思地说，“这正是明戈特家的人打算采取的立场。” 年轻人脸红了。“我可没有必要等他们家的暗示——如果你是这个意思的话，先生。奥兰斯卡夫人经历了一段不幸的生活，这不等于她无家可归。” “外面有些谣传，”杰克逊先生开口说，瞥了詹尼一眼。 “噢，我知道：是说那个秘书，”年轻人打断他的话说。“没关系，母亲，詹尼是大人了。人们不就是说，”他接下去讲，“是那个秘书帮她离开了把她当囚犯看待的那个畜牲丈夫吗？哎，是又怎么样？我相信，我们这些人遇到这种情况，谁都会这么干的。” 杰克逊先生从肩头斜视了一眼那位脸色阴沉的男仆说：“也许……那个佐料……就要一点，总之——”他吃了一口又说：“我听说她在找房子，打算住在这儿。” “我听说她打算离婚，”詹尼冒失地说。 “我希望她离婚！”阿切尔大声地说。 这话像一块炸弹壳落在了阿切尔家高雅、宁静的餐厅里，阿切尔太太耸起她那优雅的眉毛，那根特殊的曲线表示：“有男仆——”而年轻人自己也意识到公开谈论这类私事有伤风雅，于是急忙把话题岔开，转而去讲他对明戈特老太太的拜访。 晚餐之后，按照自古以来的习惯，阿切尔太太与詹尼拖着长长的绸裙到楼上客厅里去了。当绅士们在楼下吸烟的时候，她们在一台带搂刻灯罩的卡索式灯旁，面对面地在一张黄檀木缝纫桌两边坐下，桌底下挂一个绿色丝绸袋，两人在一块花罩毯两端缝缀起来。那以鲜花铺底的罩毯是预定用来装饰小纽兰·阿切尔太太的客厅里那把“备用”椅子的。 这一仪式在客厅里进行的同时，在那间哥特式的图书室里，阿切尔正让杰克逊先生坐进火炉近处的一把扶手椅，并递给他一支雪茄。杰克逊先生舒舒服服坐在椅子里，信心十足地点着了雪茄（这是纽兰买的）。他把瘦削的脚踝朝煤炉前伸了伸，说：“你说那个秘书仅仅是帮她逃跑吗。亲爱的？可一年之后他仍然在继续帮助她呢。有人在洛桑亲眼看见他们住在一起。” 纽兰脸红了。“住在一起？哎，为什么不可以？假如她自己没有结束她的人生，又有谁有权去结束呢？把她这样年轻的女子活活葬送，而她的丈夫却可以与娼妓在一起鬼混。我痛恨这种伪善的观点。” 他打住话头，气愤地转过身去点着雪茄。“女人应当有自由——跟我们一样的自由，”他断然地说。他仿佛有了一种新的发现，而由于过分激动，还无法估量其可怕的后果。 西勒顿·杰克逊先生把脚踝伸得离炉火更近一些，嘲讽地打了一个唿哨。 “嗯，”他停了一下说，“奥兰斯卡伯爵显然和你持相同的观点；因为我从未听说他动过一根指头去把妻子弄回来。”

Chapter 6

That evening, after Mr. Jackson had taken himself away, and theladies had retired to their chintz- curtained bedroom, Newland Archermounted thoughtfully to his own study. A vigilant hand had, as usual,kept the fire alive and the lamp trimmed; and the room, with its rowsand rows of books, its bronze and steel statuettes of "The Fencers" onthe mantelpiece and its many photographs of famous pictures, lookedsingularly home-like and welcoming. As he dropped into his armchair near the fire his eyes rested on alarge photograph of May Welland, which the young girl had given him inthe first days of their romance, and which had now displaced all theother portraits on the table. With a new sense of awe he looked at thefrank forehead, serious eyes and gay innocent mouth of the youngcreature whose soul's custodian he was to be. That terrifying product ofthe social system he belonged to and believed in, the young girl whoknew nothing and expected everything, looked back at him like a strangerthrough May Welland's familiar features; and once more it was borne inon him that marriage was not the safe anchorage he had been taught tothink, but a voyage on uncharted seas. The case of the Countess Olenska had stirred up old settledconvictions and set them drifting dangerously through his mind. His ownexclamation: "Women should be free--as free as we are," struck to theroot of a problem that it was agreed in his world to regard asnon-existent. "Nice" women, however wronged, would never claim the kindof freedom he meant, and generous- minded men like himself weretherefore--in the heat of argument--the more chivalrously ready toconcede it to them. Such verbal generosities were in fact only ahumbugging disguise of the inexorable conventions that tied thingstogether and bound people down to the old pattern. But here he waspledged to defend, on the part of his betrothed's cousin, conduct that,on his own wife's part, would justify him in calling down on her all thethunders of Church and State. Of course the dilemma was purelyhypothetical; since he wasn't a blackguard Polish nobleman, it wasabsurd to speculate what his wife's rights would be if he WERE. ButNewland Archer was too imaginative not to feel that, in his case andMay's, the tie might gall for reasons far less gross and palpable. Whatcould he and she really know of each other, since it was his duty, as a"decent" fellow, to conceal his past from her, and hers, as amarriageable girl, to have no past to conceal? What if, for some one ofthe subtler reasons that would tell with both of them, they should tireof each other, misunderstand or irritate each other? He reviewed hisfriends' marriages-- the supposedly happy ones--and saw none thatanswered, even remotely, to the passionate and tender comradeship whichhe pictured as his permanent relation with May Welland. He perceivedthat such a picture presupposed, on her part, the experience, theversatility, the freedom of judgment, which she had been carefullytrained not to possess; and with a shiver of foreboding he saw hismarriage becoming what most of the other marriages about him were: adull association of material and social interests held together byignorance on the one side and hypocrisy on the other. Lawrence Leffertsoccurred to him as the husband who had most completely realised thisenviable ideal. As became the high-priest of form, he had formed a wifeso completely to his own convenience that, in the most conspicuousmoments of his frequent love-affairs with other men's wives, she wentabout in smiling unconsciousness, saying that "Lawrence was sofrightfully strict"; and had been known to blush indignantly, and averther gaze, when some one alluded in her presence to the fact that JuliusBeaufort (as became a "foreigner" of doubtful origin) had what was knownin New York as "another establishment." Archer tried to console himself with the thought that he was notquite such an ass as Larry Lefferts, nor May such a simpleton as poorGertrude; but the difference was after all one of intelligence and notof standards. In reality they all lived in a kind of hieroglyphic world,where the real thing was never said or done or even thought, but onlyrepresented by a set of arbitrary signs; as when Mrs. Welland, who knewexactly why Archer had pressed her to announce her daughter's engagementat the Beaufort ball (and had indeed expected him to do no less), yetfelt obliged to simulate reluctance, and the air of having had her handforced, quite as, in the books on Primitive Man that people of advancedculture were beginning to read, the savage bride is dragged with shrieksfrom her parents' tent. The result, of course, was that the young girl who was the centre ofthis elaborate system of mystification remained the more inscrutable forher very frankness and assurance. She was frank, poor darling, becauseshe had nothing to conceal, assured because she knew of nothing to be onher guard against; and with no better preparation than this, she was tobe plunged overnight into what people evasively called "the facts oflife." The young man was sincerely but placidly in love. He delighted in theradiant good looks of his betrothed, in her health, her horsemanship,her grace and quickness at games, and the shy interest in books andideas that she was beginning to develop under his guidance. (She hadadvanced far enough to join him in ridiculing the Idyls of the King, butnot to feel the beauty of Ulysses and the Lotus Eaters.) She wasstraightforward, loyal and brave; she had a sense of humour (chieflyproved by her laughing at HIS jokes); and he suspected, in the depths ofher innocently-gazing soul, a glow of feeling that it would be a joy towaken. But when he had gone the brief round of her he returneddiscouraged by the thought that all this frankness and innocence wereonly an artificial product. Untrained human nature was not frank andinnocent; it was full of the twists and defences of an instinctiveguile. And he felt himself oppressed by this creation of factitiouspurity, so cunningly manufactured by a conspiracy of mothers and auntsand grandmothers and long-dead ancestresses, because it was supposed tobe what he wanted, what he had a right to, in order that he mightexercise his lordly pleasure in smashing it like an image made of snow. There was a certain triteness in these reflections: they were thosehabitual to young men on the approach of their wedding day. But theywere generally accompanied by a sense of compunction and self-abasementof which Newland Archer felt no trace. He could not deplore (asThackeray's heroes so often exasperated him by doing) that he had not ablank page to offer his bride in exchange for the unblemished one shewas to give to him. He could not get away from the fact that if he hadbeen brought up as she had they would have been no more fit to findtheir way about than the Babes in the Wood; nor could he, for all hisanxious cogitations, see any honest reason (any, that is, unconnectedwith his own momentary pleasure, and the passion of masculine vanity)why his bride should not have been allowed the same freedom ofexperience as himself. Such questions, at such an hour, were bound to drift through hismind; but he was conscious that their uncomfortable persistence andprecision were due to the inopportune arrival of the Countess Olenska.Here he was, at the very moment of his betrothal--a moment for purethoughts and cloudless hopes--pitchforked into a coil of scandal whichraised all the special problems he would have preferred to let lie."Hang Ellen Olenska!" he grumbled, as he covered his fire and began toundress. He could not really see why her fate should have the leastbearing on his; yet he dimly felt that he had only just begun to measurethe risks of the championship which his engagement had forced upon him. A few days later the bolt fell. The Lovell Mingotts had sent out cards for what was known as "aformal dinner" (that is, three extra footmen, two dishes for eachcourse, and a Roman punch in the middle), and had headed theirinvitations with the words "To meet the Countess Olenska," in accordancewith the hospitable American fashion, which treats strangers as if theywere royalties, or at least as their ambassadors. The guests had been selected with a boldness and discrimination inwhich the initiated recognised the firm hand of Catherine the Great.Associated with such immemorial standbys as the Selfridge Merrys, whowere asked everywhere because they always had been, the Beauforts, onwhom there was a claim of relationship, and Mr. Sillerton Jackson andhis sister Sophy (who went wherever her brother told her to), were someof the most fashionable and yet most irreproachable of the dominant"young married" set; the Lawrence Leffertses, Mrs. Lefferts Rushworth(the lovely widow), the Harry Thorleys, the Reggie Chiverses and youngMorris Dagonet and his wife (who was a van der Luyden). The companyindeed was perfectly assorted, since all the members belonged to thelittle inner group of people who, during the long New York season,disported themselves together daily and nightly with apparentlyundiminished zest. Forty-eight hours later the unbelievable had happened; every one hadrefused the Mingotts' invitation except the Beauforts and old Mr.Jackson and his sister. The intended slight was emphasised by the factthat even the Reggie Chiverses, who were of the Mingott clan, were amongthose inflicting it; and by the uniform wording of the notes, in all ofwhich the writers "regretted that they were unable to accept," withoutthe mitigating plea of a "previous engagement" that ordinary courtesyprescribed. New York society was, in those days, far too small, and too scant inits resources, for every one in it (including livery-stable-keepers,butlers and cooks) not to know exactly on which evenings people werefree; and it was thus possible for the recipients of Mrs. LovellMingott's invitations to make cruelly clear their determination not tomeet the Countess Olenska. The blow was unexpected; but the Mingotts, as their way was, met itgallantly. Mrs. Lovell Mingott confided the case to Mrs. Welland, whoconfided it to Newland Archer; who, aflame at the outrage, appealedpassionately and authoritatively to his mother; who, after a painfulperiod of inward resistance and outward temporising, succumbed to hisinstances (as she always did), and immediately embracing his cause withan energy redoubled by her previous hesitations, put on her grey velvetbonnet and said: "I'll go and see Louisa van der Luyden." The New York of Newland Archer's day was a small and slipperypyramid, in which, as yet, hardly a fissure had been made or a footholdgained. At its base was a firm foundation of what Mrs. Archer called"plain people"; an honourable but obscure majority of respectablefamilies who (as in the case of the Spicers or the Leffertses or theJacksons) had been raised above their level by marriage with one of theruling clans. People, Mrs. Archer always said, were not as particular asthey used to be; and with old Catherine Spicer ruling one end of FifthAvenue, and Julius Beaufort the other, you couldn't expect the oldtraditions to last much longer. Firmly narrowing upward from this wealthy but inconspicuoussubstratum was the compact and dominant group which the Mingotts,Newlands, Chiverses and Mansons so actively represented. Most peopleimagined them to be the very apex of the pyramid; but they themselves(at least those of Mrs. Archer's generation) were aware that, in theeyes of the professional genealogist, only a still smaller number offamilies could lay claim to that eminence. "Don't tell me," Mrs. Archer would say to her children, "all thismodern newspaper rubbish about a New York aristocracy. If there is one,neither the Mingotts nor the Mansons belong to it; no, nor the Newlandsor the Chiverses either. Our grandfathers and great- grandfathers werejust respectable English or Dutch merchants, who came to the colonies tomake their fortune, and stayed here because they did so well. One ofyour great-grandfathers signed the Declaration, and another was ageneral on Washington's staff, and received General Burgoyne's swordafter the battle of Saratoga. These are things to be proud of, but theyhave nothing to do with rank or class. New York has always been acommercial community, and there are not more than three families in itwho can claim an aristocratic origin in the real sense of the word." Mrs. Archer and her son and daughter, like every one else in NewYork, knew who these privileged beings were: the Dagonets of WashingtonSquare, who came of an old English county family allied with the Pittsand Foxes; the Lannings, who had intermarried with the descendants ofCount de Grasse, and the van der Luydens, direct descendants of thefirst Dutch governor of Manhattan, and related by pre-revolutionarymarriages to several members of the French and British aristocracy. The Lannings survived only in the person of two very old but livelyMiss Lannings, who lived cheerfully and reminiscently among familyportraits and Chippendale; the Dagonets were a considerable clan, alliedto the best names in Baltimore and Philadelphia; but the van derLuydens, who stood above all of them, had faded into a kind ofsuper-terrestrial twilight, from which only two figures impressivelyemerged; those of Mr. and Mrs. Henry van der Luyden. Mrs. Henry van der Luyden had been Louisa Dagonet, and her mother hadbeen the granddaughter of Colonel du Lac, of an old Channel Islandfamily, who had fought under Cornwallis and had settled in Maryland,after the war, with his bride, Lady Angelica Trevenna, fifth daughter ofthe Earl of St. Austrey. The tie between the Dagonets, the du Lacs ofMaryland, and their aristocratic Cornish kinsfolk, the Trevennas, hadalways remained close and cordial. Mr. and Mrs. van der Luyden had morethan once paid long visits to the present head of the house of Trevenna,the Duke of St. Austrey, at his country-seat in Cornwall and at St.Austrey in Gloucestershire; and his Grace had frequently announced hisintention of some day returning their visit (without the Duchess, whofeared the Atlantic). Mr. and Mrs. van der Luyden divided their time between Trevenna,their place in Maryland, and Skuytercliff, the great estate on theHudson which had been one of the colonial grants of the Dutch governmentto the famous first Governor, and of which Mr. van der Luyden was still"Patroon." Their large solemn house in Madison Avenue was seldomopened, and when they came to town they received in it only their mostintimate friends. "I wish you would go with me, Newland," his mother said, suddenlypausing at the door of the Brown coupe. "Louisa is fond of you; and ofcourse it's on account of dear May that I'm taking this step--and alsobecause, if we don't all stand together, there'll be no such thing asSociety left."

这天晚上，杰克逊先生离开之后，两位女士回到她们挂着印花布窗帘的卧室，纽兰·阿切尔沉思着上楼进了自己的书房。勤快的仆人已跟平时一样把炉火燃旺，调好了灯的光亮。屋子里放着一排排的书，壁炉炉台上放着一个个铜制与钢制的“击剑者”小雕像，墙上挂着许多名画的照片——这一切看起来格外温馨。 他坐进自己那把扶手椅时，目光落在梅·韦兰的一张大照片上，那是他们恋爱初期那位年轻姑娘送给他的，如今已经取代了桌子上所有其他的画像。他带着一种敬畏的新感觉注视着她那坦诚的前额、庄重的眼睛，以及天真快乐的嘴巴。他就要成为这位年轻女子的灵魂监护人了，作为他归属并信奉的这个社会制度的令人惊叹的产物，这位年轻姑娘对一切都全然不知，却又期待着得到一切。她像一个陌生人，借助梅·韦兰那熟悉的容貌回望着他；他又一次深刻地认识到：婚姻并非如他惯常认为的那样，是一个安全的港湾，而是在未知的大洋上的航行。 奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人的事搅乱了那些根深蒂固的社会信条，并使它们在他的脑海里危险地飘移。他个人的断言——“女人应当是自由的——跟我们一样自由”——击中了一个问题的要害，而这个问题在他那个圈子里却一致认为是不存在的。“有教养”的女子，无论受到怎样的伤害，都决不会要求他讲的那种自由，而像他这样心胸博大的男人却因此越发豪侠地——在激烈辩论中——准备把这种自由授与她们。这种口头上的慷慨陈词实际上只是骗人的幌子而已，在它背后止是束缚世事、让人因袭守旧的不可动摇的习俗。不过，他在这里发誓为之辩护的未婚妻的表姐的那些行为，若是出现在自己妻子身上，他即使请求教会和国家给她最严厉的惩罚也会是正当的。当然，这种两难的推测纯属假设；既然他不是个恶棍般的波兰贵族，现在假设他是，再来推断他妻子将有什么权力，这未免荒唐。然而纽兰·阿切尔想像力太强，难免不想到他与梅的关系也可能会由于远没有如此严重和明显的原因而受到损害。既然作为一个“正人君子”，向她隐瞒自己的过去是他的义务，而作为已到婚龄的姑娘，她的义务却是把过去的历史向他袒露，那么，两个人又怎能真正相互了解呢？假如因某种微妙的原因使他们两人互相厌倦、误解或发生不愉快，那该怎么办呢？他回顾朋友们的婚姻——那些被认为是美满的婚姻——发现没有一个（哪怕一点点）符合他为自己与梅·韦兰构想的那种终生相伴的热烈而又温柔的友爱关系。他意识到，作为这种构想的前提条件——她的经验、她的多才多艺、她的判断自由——她早已被精心训练得不具备了。他预感地打了个冷颤，发现自己的婚姻变得跟周围大部分人完全相同：一种由一方的愚昧与另一方的虚伪捏合在一起的物质利益与社会利益的乏味的联盟。他想到，劳伦斯·莱弗茨就是一个彻底实现了这一令人羡慕的理想的丈夫。那位仪态举止方面的权威，塑造了一位给他最大方便的妻子。在他与别人的妻子频繁发生桃色事件大出风头的时刻，她却照常喜笑颜开，不知不觉，四处游说：“劳伦斯极其循规蹈矩。”有人在她面前提及朱利叶斯·博福特拥有纽约人所说的“外室”时（籍贯来历不明的“外国人”常常如此），据说她气得脸都红了，并且把目光移开。 阿切尔设法安慰自己，心想他跟拉里·莱弗茨那样的蠢驴决不可同日而语，梅也不是可悲的格特鲁德那样的傻爪；然而这差别毕竟只是属于才智方面的，而不是原则性的。他们实际上都生活在一种用符号表示的天地里，在那里真实的事情从来不说、不做，甚至也不想，而只是用一套随心所欲的符号来表示；就像韦兰太太那样，她十分清楚阿切尔为什么催她在博福特的舞会上宣布女儿的订婚消息（而且她确实也希望他那样做），却认为必须假装不情愿，装出勉为其难的样子，这颇似文化超前的人们开始阅读的关于原始人的书中描绘的情景：原始时代未开化的新娘是尖叫着被人从父母的帐篷里拖走的。 其结果必然是，处于精心策划的神秘体制中心的年轻姑娘因为坦诚与自信反而越发不可思议。她坦诚——可怜的宝贝——因为她没有什么需要隐瞒；她自信，因为她不知道有什么需要防范；仅仅有这点准备，一夜之间她便投身于人们含糊称谓的“生活常规”之中去了。 阿切尔真诚却又冷静地坠人爱河，他喜爱未婚妻光华照人的容貌、她的身体、她的马术、她在游戏中的优雅与敏捷，以及在他指导下刚刚萌发的对书籍与思想的兴趣。（她已经进步到能与他一起嘲笑《国王牧歌》，但尚不能感受《尤利西斯》与《食忘忧果者》的美妙。）她直爽、忠诚、勇敢，并且有幽默感（主要证明是听了他的笑话后大笑）。他推测，在她天真、专注的心灵深处有一种热烈的感情，唤醒它是一种快乐。然而对她进行一番解剖之后，他重又变得气馁起来，因为他想到，所有这些坦率与天真只不过是人为的产物。未经驯化的人性是不坦率、不天真的，而是出自本能的狡猾，充满了怪僻与防范。他感到自己就受到这种人造的假纯洁的折磨。它非常巧妙地由母亲们、姑姨们、祖母们及早已过世的祖先们合谋制造出来——因为据认为他需要它并有权得到它——以便让他行使自己的高贵意志，把它像雪人般打得粉碎。 这些想法未免有些迂腐，它们属于临近婚礼的年轻人惯常的思考，不过伴随这些思考的往往是懊悔与自卑，但纽兰·阿切尔却丝毫没有这种感觉。他不想哀叹（这是萨克雷的主人公们经常令他恼怒的做法）他没有一身的清白奉献给他的新娘，以换取她的白壁无瑕。他不想回避这样的事实：假如他受的教养跟她一样，他们的适应能力就无异于那些容易上当的老好人。而且，绞尽脑汁也看不出有何（与他个人的一时寻欢与强烈的男性虚荣心不相干的）正当理由，不让他的新娘得到与他同样的自由与经验。 这样一些问题，在这样一种时刻，是必然会浮上他心头的；然而他意识到，它们那样清晰、那样令人不快地压在他的心头，全是因为奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人来得不合时宜，使他刚好在订婚的时刻——思想纯净、前景光明的时刻——突然被推人丑闻的混浊漩涡，引出了所有那些他宁愿束之高阁的特殊问题。“去他的埃伦·奥兰斯卡！”他抱怨地咕哝道，一面盖好炉火，开始脱衣。他真的不明白她的命运为何会对他产生影响，然而他朦胧地感觉到，他只是刚刚开始体验订婚加给他的捍卫者这一角色的风险。 几天之后，意外的事情发生了。 洛弗尔·明戈特家散发请柬，要举办所谓“正式宴会”（即增加3名男仆，每道菜两份，中间上罗马潘趣酒），并按好客的美国方式——把陌生人当成王亲贵族。或者至少是他们的大使对待——在请柬开头用了“为欢迎奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人”这样的措辞。 客人的挑选颇具胆识，内行人从中看得出大人物凯瑟琳的大手笔。被邀请的常客有塞尔弗里奇·梅里夫妇——他们到处受邀请是因为历来如此，博福特夫妇——人们要求与他们建立联系，以及西勒顿·杰克逊先生与妹妹索菲（哥哥让她去哪儿她就去哪儿）。与这些中坚人物为伍的是几对最时髦却又最无懈可击。超群出众的“年轻夫妇”；还有劳伦斯·莱弗茨夫妇，莱弗茨·拉什沃斯太太（那位可爱的寡妇），哈里·索利夫妇，雷杰·奇弗斯夫妇，以及小莫里斯·达格尼特和他妻子（她姓范德卢顿）。这伙客人真可谓最完美的组合，因为他们都属于那个核心小团体，在纽约漫长社交季节里，他们热情不减地日夜在一起寻欢作乐。 48小时之后，令人不可思议的事情发生了。除去博福特夫妇及老杰克逊先生和妹妹，所有的人都拒绝了明戈特家的邀请。甚至属于明戈特家族的雷杰·奇弗斯夫妇也加盟作梗。而且他们的回函措辞也十分统一，都是直截了当地说“抱歉不能接受邀请”，连一般情况下出于礼貌常用的“事先有约”这种缓冲性借口都没有。这一事实突出了人们的故意怠慢。 那时候的纽约社交界范围还很小，娱乐活动也少得可怜，远不至于使其中任何人（包括马车行的老板、男仆及厨师在内）无法确知人们哪些晚上空闲。正因为如此，接到洛弗尔·明戈特太太请柬的人们不愿与奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人会面的决心，才表达得那么明确，那么无情。 这一打击是出乎意料的；然而明戈特一家以他们惯有的方式勇敢地迎接了这一挑战。洛弗尔·明戈特太太把情况秘密告知了韦兰太太，韦兰太太又秘密告知了纽兰·阿切尔，他听了大为光火，急忙像下达命令似地要求母亲立即采取行动。做母亲的虽然内心里极其不愿，外表上却又不能不对他尽力抚慰。经过一段痛苦的斗争之后，还是屈从了他的要求（像一向那样），她立即采纳他的主张，且由于先前的犹豫而干劲倍增，戴上她的灰丝绒帽说：“我去找路易莎·范德卢顿。” 在纽兰·阿切尔那个时代，纽约的上流社会还是个滑溜溜的小金字塔，人们很难在上面开凿裂缝，找到立足点。其底部的坚实基础，由阿切尔太太所说的“平民”构成，他们多数属于相当有身份的家庭，尽管体面，却没有名望，通过与某个占支配地位的家族联姻而崛起（就像斯派塞夫妇、莱弗茨夫妇与杰克逊夫妇那样）。阿切尔太太总是说，人们不像过去那样讲究了；有老凯瑟琳·斯派塞把持第五大街的一端，朱利叶斯·博福特把持另一端，你无法指望那些老规矩能维持多久。 从这个富有却不引人注目的底部坚固地向上收缩，便是由明戈特家族、纽兰家族、奇弗斯家族及曼森家族代表的那个举足轻重的紧密群体。在多数人的想象中，他们便是金字塔的顶端了，然而他们自己（至少阿切尔太太那一代人）却明白，在职业系谱学家的心目中，只有为数更少的几个家族才有资格享有那份显赫。 阿切尔太太经常对孩子们说，“不要相信现在报纸上关于纽约有个贵族阶层的胡说八道。假如有的话，属于它的既不是明戈特家族，也不是曼森家族，更不是纽兰或奇弗斯家族。我们的祖父和曾祖父仅仅是有名望的英国或荷兰商人，他们来到殖民地发家致富，因为干得特别出色而留在了这里。你们的一位曾祖签署过《独立宣言》，另一位是华盛顿参谋部的一名将军，他在萨拉托加之役后接受了伯戈因将军的投降。这些事情是应该引以为荣的，不过这与身份、阶级毫无关系。纽约向来都是个商业社会，按字面的真正含义，能称得上贵族出身的不超过3个家族。” 跟纽约所有的人一样，阿切尔太太与她的儿子、女儿知道拥有这一殊荣的人物是谁：华盛顿广场的达戈内特夫妇。他们出身于英国古老的郡中世家，与皮特和福克斯家族有姻亲关系；兰宁家族，他们与德格拉斯伯爵的后代近亲通婚；还有范德卢顿一家，他n］是曼哈顿首任荷兰总督的直系后代，独立战争前与法国及英国的几位贵族有姻亲关系。 兰宁家族目前只剩下两位年迈却很活跃的三宁小姐。她们喜欢怀旧，兴致勃勃地生活在族人的画像与切宾代尔式的家具中间；达戈内特是个了不起的家族，他们与巴尔的摩和费城最著名的人物联了姻；而范德卢顿家虽然地位比前两家都高，但家道已经败落，成了残留在地面上的一抹夕照，目前能给人留下深刻印象的只有两个人物，即亨利·范德卢顿先生与他的太太。 亨利·范德卢顿太太原名路易莎·达戈内特，其母本是杜拉克上校的孙女。杜拉克属于海峡岛的一个古老家族，曾在康沃利斯麾下征战，战后携新娘圣奥斯特利伯爵的五女儿安吉莉卡·特利文纳小姐定居马里兰。达戈内特家、马里兰的杜拉克家及其康沃尔郡的贵族亲戚特利文纳家之间的关系一直密切融洽。范德卢顿先生与太太不止一次地对特利文纳家的现任首脑、圣奥斯特利公爵进行长时间拜望，到过他在康沃尔郡的庄园及格罗斯特郡的圣奥斯特利，而且公爵大人经常宣布有朝一日将对他们进行回访的意向（不携公爵夫人，她害怕大西洋）。 范德卢顿先生与太太把他们的时间分别花在马里兰的特利文纳宅邸以及哈德逊河沿岸的大庄园斯库特克利夫。庄园原是荷兰政府对著名的首任总督的赏赐，范德卢顿先生如今仍为“庄主”。他们在麦迪逊大街那座庄严肃穆的宅邪很少开门。他们进城时只在里面接待至交。 “希望你跟我一起去，纽兰，”母亲在布朗马车的门前突然停步说。“路易莎喜欢你；当然，我是为了亲爱的梅才走这一步的——同时还因为，假如我们不都站在一起，上流社会也就不复存在了。”

Chapter 7

Mrs. Henry van der Luyden listened in silence to her cousin Mrs. Archer's narrative. It was all very well to tell yourself in advance that Mrs. van derLuyden was always silent, and that, though non-committal by nature andtraining, she was very kind to the people she really liked. Evenpersonal experience of these facts was not always a protection from thechill that descended on one in the high-ceilinged white-walled MadisonAvenue drawing-room, with the pale brocaded armchairs so obviouslyuncovered for the occasion, and the gauze still veiling the ormolumantel ornaments and the beautiful old carved frame of Gainsborough's"Lady Angelica du Lac." Mrs. van der Luyden's portrait by Huntington (in black velvet andVenetian point) faced that of her lovely ancestress. It was generallyconsidered "as fine as a Cabanel," and, though twenty years had elapsedsince its execution, was still "a perfect likeness." Indeed the Mrs. vander Luyden who sat beneath it listening to Mrs. Archer might have beenthe twin-sister of the fair and still youngish woman drooping against agilt armchair before a green rep curtain. Mrs. van der Luyden still woreblack velvet and Venetian point when she went into society--or rather(since she never dined out) when she threw open her own doors to receiveit. Her fair hair, which had faded without turning grey, was stillparted in flat overlapping points on her forehead, and the straight nosethat divided her pale blue eyes was only a little more pinched aboutthe nostrils than when the portrait had been painted. She always,indeed, struck Newland Archer as having been rather gruesomely preservedin the airless atmosphere of a perfectly irreproachable existence, asbodies caught in glaciers keep for years a rosy life-in-death. Like all his family, he esteemed and admired Mrs. van der Luyden; buthe found her gentle bending sweetness less approachable than thegrimness of some of his mother's old aunts, fierce spinsters who said"No" on principle before they knew what they were going to be asked. Mrs. van der Luyden's attitude said neither yes nor no, but alwaysappeared to incline to clemency till her thin lips, wavering into theshadow of a smile, made the almost invariable reply: "I shall first haveto talk this over with my husband." She and Mr. van der Luyden were so exactly alike that Archer oftenwondered how, after forty years of the closest conjugality, two suchmerged identities ever separated themselves enough for anything ascontroversial as a talking-over. But as neither had ever reached adecision without prefacing it by this mysterious conclave, Mrs. Archerand her son, having set forth their case, waited resignedly for thefamiliar phrase. Mrs. van der Luyden, however, who had seldom surprised any one, nowsurprised them by reaching her long hand toward the bell-rope. "I think," she said, "I should like Henry to hear what you have told me." A footman appeared, to whom she gravely added: "If Mr. van der Luydenhas finished reading the newspaper, please ask him to be kind enough tocome." She said "reading the newspaper" in the tone in which a Minister'swife might have said: "Presiding at a Cabinet meeting"--not from anyarrogance of mind, but because the habit of a life-time, and theattitude of her friends and relations, had led her to consider Mr. vander Luyden's least gesture as having an almost sacerdotal importance. Her promptness of action showed that she considered the case aspressing as Mrs. Archer; but, lest she should be thought to havecommitted herself in advance, she added, with the sweetest look: "Henryalways enjoys seeing you, dear Adeline; and he will wish to congratulateNewland." The double doors had solemnly reopened and between them appeared Mr.Henry van der Luyden, tall, spare and frock-coated, with faded fairhair, a straight nose like his wife's and the same look of frozengentleness in eyes that were merely pale grey instead of pale blue. Mr. van der Luyden greeted Mrs. Archer with cousinly affability,proffered to Newland low-voiced congratulations couched in the samelanguage as his wife's, and seated himself in one of the brocadearmchairs with the simplicity of a reigning sovereign. "I had just finished reading the Times," he said, laying his longfinger-tips together. "In town my mornings are so much occupied that Ifind it more convenient to read the newspapers after luncheon." "Ah, there's a great deal to be said for that plan-- indeed I thinkmy uncle Egmont used to say he found it less agitating not to read themorning papers till after dinner," said Mrs. Archer responsively. "Yes: my good father abhorred hurry. But now we live in a constantrush," said Mr. van der Luyden in measured tones, looking with pleasantdeliberation about the large shrouded room which to Archer was socomplete an image of its owners. "But I hope you HAD finished your reading, Henry?" his wife interposed. "Quite--quite," he reassured her. "Then I should like Adeline to tell you--" "Oh, it's really Newland's story," said his mother smiling; andproceeded to rehearse once more the monstrous tale of the affrontinflicted on Mrs. Lovell Mingott. "Of course," she ended, "Augusta Welland and Mary Mingott both feltthat, especially in view of Newland's engagement, you and Henry OUGHT TOKNOW." "Ah--" said Mr. van der Luyden, drawing a deep breath. There was a silence during which the tick of the monumental ormoluclock on the white marble mantelpiece grew as loud as the boom of aminute-gun. Archer contemplated with awe the two slender faded figures,seated side by side in a kind of viceregal rigidity, mouthpieces of someremote ancestral authority which fate compelled them to wield, whenthey would so much rather have lived in simplicity and seclusion,digging invisible weeds out of the perfect lawns of Skuytercliff, andplaying Patience together in the evenings. Mr. van der Luyden was the first to speak. "You really think this is due to some--some intentional interference of Lawrence Lefferts's?" he enquired, turning to Archer. "I'm certain of it, sir. Larry has been going it rather harder thanusual lately--if cousin Louisa won't mind my mentioning it--havingrather a stiff affair with the postmaster's wife in their village, orsome one of that sort; and whenever poor Gertrude Lefferts begins tosuspect anything, and he's afraid of trouble, he gets up a fuss of thiskind, to show how awfully moral he is, and talks at the top of his voiceabout the impertinence of inviting his wife to meet people he doesn'twish her to know. He's simply using Madame Olenska as a lightning-rod;I've seen him try the same thing often before." "The LEFFERTSES!--" said Mrs. van der Luyden. "The LEFFERTSES!--" echoed Mrs. Archer. "What would uncle Egmont havesaid of Lawrence Lefferts's pronouncing on anybody's social position?It shows what Society has come to." "We'll hope it has not quite come to that," said Mr. van der Luyden firmly. "Ah, if only you and Louisa went out more!" sighed Mrs. Archer. But instantly she became aware of her mistake. The van der Luydenswere morbidly sensitive to any criticism of their secluded existence.They were the arbiters of fashion, the Court of last Appeal, and theyknew it, and bowed to their fate. But being shy and retiring persons,with no natural inclination for their part, they lived as much aspossible in the sylvan solitude of Skuytercliff, and when they came totown, declined all invitations on the plea of Mrs. van der Luyden'shealth. Newland Archer came to his mother's rescue. "Everybody in New Yorkknows what you and cousin Louisa represent. That's why Mrs. Mingott feltshe ought not to allow this slight on Countess Olenska to pass withoutconsulting you." Mrs. van der Luyden glanced at her husband, who glanced back at her. "It is the principle that I dislike," said Mr. van der Luyden. "Aslong as a member of a well-known family is backed up by that family itshould be considered-- final." "It seems so to me," said his wife, as if she were producing a new thought. "I had no idea," Mr. van der Luyden continued, "that things had cometo such a pass." He paused, and looked at his wife again. "It occurs tome, my dear, that the Countess Olenska is already a sort of relation--through Medora Manson's first husband. At any rate, she will be whenNewland marries." He turned toward the young man. "Have you read thismorning's Times, Newland?" "Why, yes, sir," said Archer, who usually tossed off half a dozen papers with his morning coffee. Husband and wife looked at each other again. Their pale eyes clungtogether in prolonged and serious consultation; then a faint smilefluttered over Mrs. van der Luyden's face. She had evidently guessed andapproved. Mr. van der Luyden turned to Mrs. Archer. "If Louisa's health allowedher to dine out--I wish you would say to Mrs. Lovell Mingott--she and Iwould have been happy to--er--fill the places of the LawrenceLeffertses at her dinner." He paused to let the irony of this sink in."As you know, this is impossible." Mrs. Archer sounded a sympatheticassent. "But Newland tells me he has read this morning's Times;therefore he has probably seen that Louisa's relative, the Duke of St.Austrey, arrives next week on the Russia. He is coming to enter his newsloop, the Guinevere, in next summer's International Cup Race; and alsoto have a little canvasback shooting at Trevenna." Mr. van der Luydenpaused again, and continued with increasing benevolence: "Before takinghim down to Maryland we are inviting a few friends to meet himhere--only a little dinner--with a reception afterward. I am sure Louisawill be as glad as I am if Countess Olenska will let us include heramong our guests." He got up, bent his long body with a stifffriendliness toward his cousin, and added: "I think I have Louisa'sauthority for saying that she will herself leave the invitation to dinewhen she drives out presently: with our cards--of course with ourcards." Mrs. Archer, who knew this to be a hint that the seventeen-handchestnuts which were never kept waiting were at the door, rose with ahurried murmur of thanks. Mrs. van der Luyden beamed on her with thesmile of Esther interceding with Ahasuerus; but her husband raised aprotesting hand. "There is nothing to thank me for, dear Adeline; nothing whatever.This kind of thing must not happen in New York; it shall not, as long asI can help it," he pronounced with sovereign gentleness as he steeredhis cousins to the door. Two hours later, every one knew that the great C-spring barouche inwhich Mrs. van der Luyden took the air at all seasons had been seen atold Mrs. Mingott's door, where a large square envelope was handed in;and that evening at the Opera Mr. Sillerton Jackson was able to statethat the envelope contained a card inviting the Countess Olenska to thedinner which the van der Luydens were giving the following week fortheir cousin, the Duke of St. Austrey. Some of the younger men in the club box exchanged a smile at thisannouncement, and glanced sideways at Lawrence Lefferts, who satcarelessly in the front of the box, pulling his long fair moustache, andwho remarked with authority, as the soprano paused: "No one but Pattiought to attempt the Sonnambula."

亨利·范德卢顿太太默不作声地听着表妹阿切尔太太的叙说。 范德卢顿太太一向不爱讲话；而且，她的性格和所受的训练都使她不肯轻易作出承诺，但她对真心喜欢的人还是很有同情心的。对于这些情况，提前做好思想准备固然不错，但即使你有过亲身体验，也难保就能抵御得住麦迪逊大街白壁高顶的客厅里袭来的阵阵寒意。浅色锦缎的扶手椅显然是为这次接待刚刚揭去盖罩，一层薄纱依然罩着镀金的壁炉装饰及雕刻精美的盖恩斯巴罗所画的“安吉莉卡·杜拉克小姐”画像的像框。 由亨廷顿绘制的范德卢顿太太的画像（身着带威尼斯针绣花边的黑丝绒），面对着她那位可爱的女前辈的像。这张画像被普遍认为“像卡巴内尔的作品一样精致”，虽然已经画了20年，至今仍然显得“维妙维肖”。的确，坐在画像下面听阿切尔太太讲话的范德卢顿太太，与画框中那位靠在绿布窗帘前那把镀金扶手椅上、眼睛低垂的年轻美女很像一对孪生姐妹。范德卢顿太太参加社交活动——或者不如说她打开自己的家门迎接社交活动（因为她从不外出用餐）的时候，仍然穿着带威尼斯针绣花边的黑丝绒，她的金发虽然已经褪色，但并未变成灰白，依然从额前的交叠部位平分开。两只淡蓝色眼睛中间笔直的鼻子，仅仅在鼻孔附近比画像制作时略显消瘦。实际上，她总是让纽兰·阿切尔觉得，仿佛她一直被可怕地保存在一个没有空气的完美实体之中，就像那些被冷冻在冰川中的尸体，好多年还保持着虽死犹生的红润。 跟家中所有的成员一样，他敬重并崇拜范德卢顿太太，不过他发现，她那略带压制的亲切态度还不如母亲几位老姑的严厉容易让人接近，那几位恶狠狠的老处女不等弄清别人的要求，就会照例说一声“不行”。 范德卢顿太太的态度看不出是与否，不过总显示出仁慈宽厚的样子，直至她的薄嘴唇撇出一丝笑意，才几乎是千篇一律地回答说：“我得先和我丈夫商量一下。” 她与范德卢顿先生是那样相似，阿切尔常常纳闷，经过40年亲密的夫妻生活，两个如此融洽的人，怎么还能分出你我，还有什么争端需要商量。然而，由于这对夫妻谁也未曾不经双方秘密会谈就独自做出过决定，阿切尔太太和儿子阐明他们的问题之后，只好安心地等待熟悉的措辞。 然而很少让人意外的范德卢顿太太这时却令母子二人大吃一惊：她伸出长长的手去够铃绳。 “我想，”她说道，“我要让亨利听一听你对我讲的情况。” 一名男仆出现了，她又严肃地对他说：“如果范德卢顿先生读完了报，请他劳神过来一趟。” 她讲“读报”的口气宛如一位大臣的妻子讲“主持内阁会议”，这并非由于她成心妄自尊大，而是因为终生的习惯及亲友们的态度致使她认为，范德卢顿先生的一举一动犹如执掌大政般重要。 行动的迅速表明她跟阿切尔太太一样觉得情况紧迫；不过惟恐给人未与丈夫商量就率先表态的印象，她又极为亲切地补充说：“亨利一直很乐意见你，亲爱的艾德琳；他还想祝贺纽兰。” 双扇门又被庄严地打开，亨利·范德卢顿先生从中间走了进来。他又高又瘦，穿着长礼服，一头已经稀薄的金发，跟妻子一样笔直的鼻子，一样冷淡斯文的目光，只不过两只眼睛是灰色而不是浅蓝色。 范德卢顿先生以表亲的和蔼与阿切尔太太打过招呼，又用跟妻子同样的措辞向纽兰低声表示了祝贺，然后又以在位君主的简洁在一张锦缎扶手椅里就坐。 “我刚刚读完《纽约时报》，”他说，一面把长长的指尖收拢在一起。“在城里上午事情太多，我发现午饭后读报更合适。” “噢，这样安排是很有道理的——我想我舅舅埃格蒙特过去确实常常说，他发现把晨报留到晚餐后读，不会使人心烦意乱，”阿切尔太太附和地说。 “不错。我亲爱的父亲就讨厌忙乱，可我们如今却经常处于紧张状态，”范德卢顿先生很有分寸地说，一边从容而又愉快地打量着遮蔽严实的大房间。阿切尔觉得这屋子是其主人完美的化身。 “我希望你真的已经读完报纸了，亨利？”他妻子插言道。 “完了——读完了，”他向她保证说。 “那么，我想让艾德琳对你讲一讲——” “哦，其实是纽兰的事，”母亲面带笑容地说，接着又复述了一遍洛弗尔·明戈特太太蒙受公开侮辱的咄咄怪事。 “当然，”她最后说，“奥古斯塔·韦兰跟玛丽·明戈特都认为——尤其是考虑到纽兰的订婚——你和亨利是应当知道的。” “噢——”范德卢顿先生深深吸了一口气说。 接下来是一阵沉默，白色大理石壁炉台上那架巨大的镀金时钟发出的嘀嗒声变得像葬礼上一分钟鸣放一次的炮声那样轰轰隆隆。阿切尔敬畏地思忖着这两个瘦弱的人，他们肩并肩坐在那儿，像总督一样严肃。是命运强迫他们做了远古祖先的权威代言人，尽管他们可能巴不得深居简出，在斯库特克利夫的草坪上挖除杂草，晚上一起玩纸牌游戏。 范德卢顿先生第一个开口。 “你真的以为这是劳伦斯·莱弗茨故意——捣乱的结果吗？”他转向阿切尔问道。 “我敢肯定，大人。拉里最近特别放荡——但愿路易莎舅妈不介意我提这事——和他们村邮电局长的妻子还是什么人打得火热；每当格特鲁德·莱弗茨产生怀疑，他担心要出乱子的时候，就挑起这类事端，以显示他多么讲道德。他扯着嗓门嚷嚷，说邀请他妻子去见他不愿让她见的人是多么不合适。他纯粹是利用奥兰斯卡夫人做避雷针，他这种把戏我以前见得够多了。” “莱弗茨这家人！——”范德卢顿太太说。 “莱弗茨这家人！——”阿切尔太太应声说。“假若埃格蒙特舅舅听到劳伦斯·莱弗茨对别人社会地位的看法，他会说什么呢？这说明上流社会已经到了什么地步了。” “我们但愿还没到那种地步，”范德卢顿先生坚定地说。 “唉，要是你和路易莎多出去走走就好了！”阿切尔太太叹息道。 然而她立即意识到了自己的错误。范德卢顿夫妇对有关他们隐居生活的任何批评都敏感得要命。他们是时尚的仲裁人，是终审法院，而且他们深知这一点，并听从命运的安排。但由于他们都属于怯懦畏缩的人，对他们的职责天生缺乏热情，所以他们尽可能多地住在斯库特克利夫幽僻的庄园中，进城的时候也以范德卢顿太太的健康为由，谢绝一切邀请。 纽兰·阿切尔赶紧出来为母亲解围，“在纽约，人人都明白你和路易莎舅妈代表着什么。正因为如此，明戈特太太才觉得，不应该不与你商量，而听任人家这样侮辱奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人。” 范德卢顿太太瞥了丈夫一眼，他也回头瞥了她一眼。 “我不喜欢那种做法，”范德卢顿先生说。“只要出身名门的人受到家族的支持，就应该把这种支持看作是——永远不变的。” “我也有同感，”他妻子仿佛提出一种新观点似地说。 “我原来并不知道，”范德卢顿先生接着说，“事情已经到了如此尴尬的地步。”他停住话头，又看了看妻子。“我想，亲爱的，奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人已经算是亲戚了——通过梅多拉·曼森的第一位丈夫。不管怎么说，等纽兰结了婚，她总算是个亲戚了。”他又转向年轻人说：“你读过今天上午的《时报》了吗，纽兰？” “当然，读过了，先生，”阿切尔说，他通常在早晨喝咖啡时匆匆翻阅报纸。 丈夫与妻子又互相对视了一下。他们的浅色眼睛交汇在一起，进行了长时间的认真协商；接着，一丝笑意掠过范德卢顿太太的面庞，她显然已经猜到结果并且也已经同意了。 范德卢顿先生转向阿切尔太太说：“假如路易莎的健康状况允许她外出赴宴——希望你转告洛弗尔·明戈特太太——我和她会很愉快地出席她家的宴会——呃——去补劳伦斯·莱弗茨夫妇的缺。”他停顿一下，以便让大家领会其中的讽刺意味。“不过你知道，这是不可能的。”阿切尔太太同情地应了一声表示赞同。“不过纽兰告诉我他已读过上午的《时报》；因此他可能已经发现，路易莎的亲戚圣奥斯特利公爵下周将乘俄罗斯号抵达纽约。他是来为他的帆船几内维亚号参加明年夏天的国际杯比赛进行登记的。他还要在特里文纳打一阵野鸭。”范德卢顿先生又停顿了一下，益发慈祥地接着说：“在说服他去马里兰之前，我们准备请几位朋友在这儿见见他——只不过是个小型宴会——事后还要举行欢迎会。如果奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人肯做我们的客人，我相信路易莎会跟我一样高兴的、”他站了起来，以生硬的友好态度向表妹弯了弯他那修长的身体，又说道：“我想我可以代表路易莎说，她马上就要乘车外出，亲自递送宴会请柬，还有我们的名片——当然还有我们的名片。” 阿切尔太太明白这是让她告辞的暗示，便匆匆低声道着谢站起身来。范德卢顿太太眉开眼笑地看着她，那笑容仿佛是以斯帖正在向亚哈随鲁说情，不过她丈夫却抗议似地举起一只手。 “没什么好谢的，亲爱的艾德琳，一点也不用谢。这种事情不能允许在纽约发生；只要我办得到，就不准再发生。”他带着王者的风范说，一面领着表亲走向门口。 两小时后，人人都已知道有人见到范德卢顿太太社交季节乘坐兜风的C形弹簧大马车曾在明戈特太太的门前逗留，并递进去一个方形大信封。而当晚在歌剧院里，西勒顿·杰克逊便会说明，那信封里装着一份请柬，邀请奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人参加范德卢顿夫妇下周为表弟圣奥斯特利公爵举办的宴会。 听了这一通报，俱乐部包厢里几个青年人微笑地交换了一下眼色，并斜眼瞅了瞅劳伦斯·莱弗茨。他在包厢前排坐着，正漫不经心地扯弄他那金色的长胡髭。女高音的歌声一停，他便权威地说：“除了帕蒂，谁都不配演桑那布拉这个角色。”

Chapter 8

It was generally agreed in New York that the Countess Olenska had "lost her looks." She had appeared there first, in Newland Archer's boyhood, as abrilliantly pretty little girl of nine or ten, of whom people said thatshe "ought to be painted." Her parents had been continental wanderers,and after a roaming babyhood she had lost them both, and been taken incharge by her aunt, Medora Manson, also a wanderer, who was herselfreturning to New York to "settle down." Poor Medora, repeatedly widowed, was always coming home to settledown (each time in a less expensive house), and bringing with her a newhusband or an adopted child; but after a few months she invariablyparted from her husband or quarrelled with her ward, and, having got ridof her house at a loss, set out again on her wanderings. As her motherhad been a Rushworth, and her last unhappy marriage had linked her toone of the crazy Chiverses, New York looked indulgently on hereccentricities; but when she returned with her little orphaned niece,whose parents had been popular in spite of their regrettable taste fortravel, people thought it a pity that the pretty child should be in suchhands. Every one was disposed to be kind to little Ellen Mingott, though herdusky red cheeks and tight curls gave her an air of gaiety that seemedunsuitable in a child who should still have been in black for herparents. It was one of the misguided Medora's many peculiarities toflout the unalterable rules that regulated American mourning, and whenshe stepped from the steamer her family were scandalised to see that thecrape veil she wore for her own brother was seven inches shorter thanthose of her sisters-in-law, while little Ellen was in crimson merinoand amber beads, like a gipsy foundling. But New York had so long resigned itself to Medora that only a fewold ladies shook their heads over Ellen's gaudy clothes, while her otherrelations fell under the charm of her high colour and high spirits. Shewas a fearless and familiar little thing, who asked disconcertingquestions, made precocious comments, and possessed outlandish arts, suchas dancing a Spanish shawl dance and singing Neapolitan love-songs to aguitar. Under the direction of her aunt (whose real name was Mrs.Thorley Chivers, but who, having received a Papal title, had resumed herfirst husband's patronymic, and called herself the Marchioness Manson,because in Italy she could turn it into Manzoni) the little girlreceived an expensive but incoherent education, which included "drawingfrom the model," a thing never dreamed of before, and playing the pianoin quintets with professional musicians. Of course no good could come of this; and when, a few years later,poor Chivers finally died in a mad- house, his widow (draped in strangeweeds) again pulled up stakes and departed with Ellen, who had growninto a tall bony girl with conspicuous eyes. For some time no more washeard of them; then news came of Ellen's marriage to an immensely richPolish nobleman of legendary fame, whom she had met at a ball at theTuileries, and who was said to have princely establishments in Paris,Nice and Florence, a yacht at Cowes, and many square miles of shootingin Transylvania. She disappeared in a kind of sulphurous apotheosis, andwhen a few years later Medora again came back to New York, subdued,impoverished, mourning a third husband, and in quest of a still smallerhouse, people wondered that her rich niece had not been able to dosomething for her. Then came the news that Ellen's own marriage hadended in disaster, and that she was herself returning home to seek restand oblivion among her kinsfolk. These things passed through Newland Archer's mind a week later as hewatched the Countess Olenska enter the van der Luyden drawing-room onthe evening of the momentous dinner. The occasion was a solemn one, andhe wondered a little nervously how she would carry it off. She camerather late, one hand still ungloved, and fastening a bracelet about herwrist; yet she entered without any appearance of haste or embarrassmentthe drawing-room in which New York's most chosen company was somewhatawfully assembled. In the middle of the room she paused, looking about her with a gravemouth and smiling eyes; and in that instant Newland Archer rejected thegeneral verdict on her looks. It was true that her early radiance wasgone. The red cheeks had paled; she was thin, worn, a littleolder-looking than her age, which must have been nearly thirty. Butthere was about her the mysterious authority of beauty, a sureness inthe carriage of the head, the movement of the eyes, which, without beingin the least theatrical, struck his as highly trained and full of aconscious power. At the same time she was simpler in manner than most ofthe ladies present, and many people (as he heard afterward from Janey)were disappointed that her appearance was not more "stylish" --forstylishness was what New York most valued. It was, perhaps, Archerreflected, because her early vivacity had disappeared; because she wasso quiet--quiet in her movements, her voice, and the tones of her low-pitched voice. New York had expected something a good deal morereasonant in a young woman with such a history. The dinner was a somewhat formidable business. Dining with the vander Luydens was at best no light matter, and dining there with a Dukewho was their cousin was almost a religious solemnity. It pleased Archerto think that only an old New Yorker could perceive the shade ofdifference (to New York) between being merely a Duke and being the vander Luydens' Duke. New York took stray noblemen calmly, and even (exceptin the Struthers set) with a certain distrustful hauteur; but when theypresented such credentials as these they were received with anold-fashioned cordiality that they would have been greatly mistaken inascribing solely to their standing in Debrett. It was for just suchdistinctions that the young man cherished his old New York even while hesmiled at it. The van der Luydens had done their best to emphasise the importanceof the occasion. The du Lac Sevres and the Trevenna George II plate wereout; so was the van der Luyden "Lowestoft" (East India Company) and theDagonet Crown Derby. Mrs. van der Luyden looked more than ever like aCabanel, and Mrs. Archer, in her grandmother's seed-pearls and emeralds,reminded her son of an Isabey miniature. All the ladies had on theirhandsomest jewels, but it was characteristic of the house and theoccasion that these were mostly in rather heavy old-fashioned settings;and old Miss Lanning, who had been persuaded to come, actually wore hermother's cameos and a Spanish blonde shawl. The Countess Olenska was the only young woman at the dinner; yet, asArcher scanned the smooth plump elderly faces between their diamondnecklaces and towering ostrich feathers, they struck him as curiouslyimmature compared with hers. It frightened him to think what must havegone to the making of her eyes. The Duke of St. Austrey, who sat at his hostess's right, wasnaturally the chief figure of the evening. But if the Countess Olenskawas less conspicuous than had been hoped, the Duke was almost invisible.Being a well-bred man he had not (like another recent ducal visitor)come to the dinner in a shooting-jacket; but his evening clothes were soshabby and baggy, and he wore them with such an air of their beinghomespun, that (with his stooping way of sitting, and the vast beardspreading over his shirt-front) he hardly gave the appearance of beingin dinner attire. He was short, round-shouldered, sunburnt, with a thicknose, small eyes and a sociable smile; but he seldom spoke, and when hedid it was in such low tones that, despite the frequent silences ofexpectation about the table, his remarks were lost to all but hisneighbours. When the men joined the ladies after dinner the Duke went straight upto the Countess Olenska, and they sat down in a corner and plunged intoanimated talk. Neither seemed aware that the Duke should first havepaid his respects to Mrs. Lovell Mingott and Mrs. Headly Chivers, andthe Countess have conversed with that amiable hypochondriac, Mr. UrbanDagonet of Washington Square, who, in order to have the pleasure ofmeeting her, had broken through his fixed rule of not dining out betweenJanuary and April. The two chatted together for nearly twenty minutes;then the Countess rose and, walking alone across the wide drawing-room,sat down at Newland Archer's side. It was not the custom in New York drawing-rooms for a lady to get upand walk away from one gentleman in order to seek the company ofanother. Etiquette required that she should wait, immovable as an idol,while the men who wished to converse with her succeeded each other ather side. But the Countess was apparently unaware of having broken anyrule; she sat at perfect ease in a corner of the sofa beside Archer, andlooked at him with the kindest eyes. "I want you to talk to me about May," she said. Instead of answering her he asked: "You knew the Duke before?" "Oh, yes--we used to see him every winter at Nice. He's very fond ofgambling--he used to come to the house a great deal." She said it in thesimplest manner, as if she had said: "He's fond of wild-flowers"; andafter a moment she added candidly: "I think he's the dullest man I evermet." This pleased her companion so much that he forgot the slight shockher previous remark had caused him. It was undeniably exciting to meet alady who found the van der Luydens' Duke dull, and dared to utter theopinion. He longed to question her, to hear more about the life of whichher careless words had given him so illuminating a glimpse; but hefeared to touch on distressing memories, and before he could think ofanything to say she had strayed back to her original subject. "May is a darling; I've seen no young girl in New York so handsome and so intelligent. Are you very much in love with her?" Newland Archer reddened and laughed. "As much as a man can be." She continued to consider him thoughtfully, as if not to miss anyshade of meaning in what he said, "Do you think, then, there is alimit?" "To being in love? If there is, I haven't found it!" She glowed with sympathy. "Ah--it's really and truly a romance?" "The most romantic of romances!" "How delightful! And you found it all out for yourselves--it was not in the least arranged for you?" Archer looked at her incredulously. "Have you forgotten," he askedwith a smile, "that in our country we don't allow our marriages to bearranged for us?" A dusky blush rose to her cheek, and he instantly regretted his words. "Yes," she answered, "I'd forgotten. You must forgive me if Isometimes make these mistakes. I don't always remember that everythinghere is good that was--that was bad where I've come from." She lookeddown at her Viennese fan of eagle feathers, and he saw that her lipstrembled. "I'm so sorry," he said impulsively; "but you ARE among friends here, you know." "Yes--I know. Wherever I go I have that feeling. That's why I camehome. I want to forget everything else, to become a complete Americanagain, like the Mingotts and Wellands, and you and your delightfulmother, and all the other good people here tonight. Ah, here's Mayarriving, and you will want to hurry away to her," she added, butwithout moving; and her eyes turned back from the door to rest on theyoung man's face. The drawing-rooms were beginning to fill up with after-dinner guests,and following Madame Olenska's glance Archer saw May Welland enteringwith her mother. In her dress of white and silver, with a wreath ofsilver blossoms in her hair, the tall girl looked like a Diana justalight from the chase. "Oh," said Archer, "I have so many rivals; you see she's already surrounded. There's the Duke being introduced." "Then stay with me a little longer," Madame Olenska said in a lowtone, just touching his knee with her plumed fan. It was the lightesttouch, but it thrilled him like a caress. "Yes, let me stay," he answered in the same tone, hardly knowing whathe said; but just then Mr. van der Luyden came up, followed by old Mr.Urban Dagonet. The Countess greeted them with her grave smile, andArcher, feeling his host's admonitory glance on him, rose andsurrendered his seat. Madame Olenska held out her hand as if to bid him goodbye. "Tomorrow, then, after five--I shall expect you," she said; and then turned back to make room for Mr. Dagonet. "Tomorrow--" Archer heard himself repeating, though there had been noengagement, and during their talk she had given him no hint that shewished to see him again. As he moved away he saw Lawrence Lefferts, tall and resplendent,leading his wife up to be introduced; and heard Gertrude Lefferts say,as she beamed on the Countess with her large unperceiving smile: "But Ithink we used to go to dancing-school together when we were children--."Behind her, waiting their turn to name themselves to the Countess,Archer noticed a number of the recalcitrant couples who had declined tomeet her at Mrs. Lovell Mingott's. As Mrs. Archer remarked: when the vander Luydens chose, they knew how to give a lesson. The wonder was thatthey chose so seldom. The young man felt a touch on his arm and saw Mrs. van der Luydenlooking down on him from the pure eminence of black velvet and thefamily diamonds. "It was good of you, dear Newland, to devote yourselfso unselfishly to Madame Olenska. I told your cousin Henry he mustreally come to the rescue." He was aware of smiling at her vaguely, and she added, as ifcondescending to his natural shyness: "I've never seen May lookinglovelier. The Duke thinks her the handsomest girl in the room."

在纽约，人们普遍认为奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人“红颜已衰”。 她在纽兰·阿切尔童年时期第一次在这里露面，那时她是个光彩照人的漂亮小姑娘，9到10岁的样子。人们说她“应该让人画像”。她的父母是欧洲大陆的漫游客，经过幼年的漂泊之后，她失去了双亲，被姑妈梅多拉·曼森收养。她也是位漫游客，刚刚要回纽约“定居”。 可怜的梅多拉一再成为寡妇，经常回来定居（每一次回来住房的档次都要降低一点），并带着一位新丈夫或者新收养的孩子。然而几个月之后，她又总是与丈夫分道扬镰或者与被监护人闹翻，赔本卖掉房子，又动身出去漫游。由于她母亲原姓拉什沃斯，而最后一次的不幸婚姻又把她与疯癫的奇弗斯家族的一个成员联在一起，所以纽约人都十分宽容地看待她的偏执行为。不过，当她带着成了孤儿的小侄女回来的时候，人们还是觉得把那个美丽的小姑娘托付给这样的人很可惜。孩子的父母尽管因爱好旅游令人遗憾，生前却颇有人望。 人人都对小埃伦·明戈特怀有善意，尽管她那黑黝黝的红脸蛋与密实的髭发使她显得神情愉快，看起来与一个仍在为父母服丧的孩子很不相称。轻视美国人哀悼活动的那些不容改变的规矩，是梅多拉错误的怪癖之一。当她从轮船上出来的时候，家人们见她为其兄戴的黑纱比嫂嫂的短了7英寸，而小埃伦居然穿着深红色美利奴呢，戴着琥珀色珍珠项链，像个吉卜赛弃儿一样，大家都极为震惊。 然而纽约早已对梅多拉听之任之，只有几位老夫人对埃伦花哨俗气的穿着摇摇头，而另外的亲属却被她红扑扑的脸色与勃勃生气征服了。她是个大胆的、无拘无束的小姑娘，爱问些不相宜的问题，发表早熟的议论，且掌握一些域外的艺术形式，比如跳西班牙披肩舞，伴着吉他唱那不勒斯情歌。在姑妈（她的真名是索利·奇弗斯太太，但她接受教皇所授爵位后恢复了第一任丈夫的姓，自称曼森侯爵夫人，因为在意大利这个姓可以改为曼佐尼）指导下，小姑娘接受的教育虽开支昂贵却很不连贯，其中包括以前做梦都想不到的“照模特的样子画像”，与职业乐师一起弹钢琴五重奏。 这样的教育当然是无益的。几年之后，可怜的奇弗斯终于死在疯人院里，他的遗孀（穿着奇特的丧服）又一次收摊搬家，带着埃伦走了。这时埃伦已长成一个又高又瘦的大姑娘，两只眼睛分外引人注意。有一段时间她们音讯全无，后来消息传来，说埃伦嫁给了在杜伊勒利宫舞会上认识的一位富有传奇色彩的波兰贵族富翁，据说他在巴黎、尼斯和佛罗伦萨都拥有豪华住宅，在考斯有一艘游艇，在特兰西瓦尼亚还有许多平方英里的猎场。正当人们说得沸沸扬扬之时，她却突然销声匿迹了。又过了几年，梅多拉为第三位丈夫服着丧，又一次穷困潦倒地回到纽约，寻找一所更小的房子。这时，人们不禁纳闷，她那富有的侄女怎么不伸出手来帮帮她。后来又传来了埃伦本人婚姻不幸终结的消息，她自己也要回家，到亲属中求得安息与忘却。 一周之后，在那次重大宴会的晚上，纽兰·阿切尔看着奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人走进范德卢顿太太的客厅时，想起了这些往事。这是个难得见的场合，他心情有点紧张，担心她将怎样应付。她到得很晚，一只手还未戴手套，正在扣着腕上的手镯，然而她走进汇集了纽约大多数精英的客厅时，并没有流露丝毫的匆忙与窘迫。 她在客厅中间停住脚步，抿着嘴，两眼含笑地打量着四周。就在这一瞬间，纽兰·阿切尔否定了有关她的容貌的普遍看法。不错，她早年的那种光彩的确已经不见了，那红扑扑的面颊已变成苍白色。她瘦削、憔。淬，看上去比她的年龄稍显老相——她一定快30岁了。然而她身上却散发着一种美的神秘力量，在她毫无做作的举目顾盼之间有一种自信，他觉得那是经过高度训练养成的，并且充满一种自觉的力量。同时，她的举止比在场的大多数夫人小姐都纯朴，许多人（他事后听詹尼说）对她打扮得不够“时新”感到失望——因为“时新”是纽约人最看重的东西。阿切尔沉思，也许是因为她早年的活力已经消失了，她才这样异常地沉静——她的动作、声音、低声细气的语调都异常沉静。纽约人本指望有着这样一段历史的年轻女子声音会是十分洪亮的。 宴会有点令人提心吊胆。和范德卢顿夫妇一起用餐，本来就不是件轻松事，而与他们一位公爵表亲一起用餐，更不啻是履行一种宗教仪式了。阿切尔愉快地想道，只有一个老纽约，才能看出一位普通公爵与范德卢顿家的公爵之间的细微差异（对纽约而言）。纽约人根本不把到处飘泊的贵族放在眼里，对他们甚至还带有几分不信任的傲慢（斯特拉瑟斯那伙人除外）；但是，当他们证明自己和范德卢顿这样的家族有某种关系之后，便能受到老式的真诚热情的接待，这往往使他们大错特错地把这种接待完全归功于自己在《德布利特贵族年鉴》中的地位。正是由于这种差别，年轻人即使在嘲笑他的老纽约的时候依然怀念它。 范德卢顿夫妇竭尽全力突出这次宴会的重要性。他们把杜拉克·塞沃尔与特利文纳·乔治二世的镀金餐具拿了出来。范德卢顿太太看起来比任何时候都更像一幅卡巴内尔的画像，而阿切尔太太佩戴着她祖母的米珠项链和绿宝石，让她儿子不由得想起了伊莎贝的微型画像。所有的夫人小姐都戴着她们最漂亮的首饰，不过她们的首饰大部分镶嵌得特别老式，成了这所住宅与这一场合独有的特点；被劝来的拉宁小姐戴的是她母亲的浮雕玉，还披了件亚麻色的西班牙披肩。 奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人是宴会上惟一的年轻女子，然而在阿切尔细细端详那些钻石项链与高耸的驼鸟翎毛中间光滑丰满的老年人的脸庞时，令他感到奇怪的是，她们竞显得不及她成熟。想到造就她那副眼神所付的代价，他不觉有些惊恐。 坐在女主人有首的圣奥斯特雷公爵自然是今晚的首要人物。然而，如果说奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人没有人们预期的那样突出，那么这位公爵就更不引人注目了。作为一个有教养的人，他并没有（像最近另一位公爵客人那样）穿着猎装来出席宴会，但是他穿的晚礼服是那样蹩脚，那样寒酸，他那副尊容益发显出衣着的粗陋（躬腰坐着，一把大胡子技散在衬衫前），让人很难看出是出席宴会的打扮。他身材矮小，弯腰曲背，晒得黝黑的皮肤，肥厚的鼻子，小小的眼睛，脸上挂着不变的微笑。他少言寡语，讲话的时候语调特别低，尽管餐桌上的人不时静下来等待聆听他的高见，但除了邻座，他的话谁也听不见。 餐后男士与女士汇合的时候，公爵径直朝奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人走去。他们在角落里刚一坐下，便热烈交谈起来。两个人似乎谁也没有意识到，公爵应该先向洛弗尔·明戈特太太与黑德利·奇弗斯太太致意，而伯爵夫人则应该与那位和蔼的癔症患者、华盛顿广场的厄本·达戈内特交谈。他为了能与她幸会，甚至不惜打破了1至4月份不外出用餐的常规。两个人一起聊了将近20分钟，然后伯爵夫人站了起来，独自走过宽敞的客厅，在纽兰·阿切尔身边坐了下来。 一位女士起身离开一位绅士，去找另一位绅士作伴，这在纽约的客厅里是不合常规的。按照礼节，她应该像木偶似地坐在那儿等待，让希望与她交谈的男士一个接一个地到她身边来。但伯爵夫人显然没有意识到违背了任何规矩，她悠然自得地坐在阿切尔身旁沙发的角落里，用最亲切的目光看着他。 “我想让你对我讲讲梅的事，”她说。 他没有回答，反而问道：“你以前认识公爵吗？” “唔，是的——过去在尼斯时我们每年冬天都和他见面。他很爱赌博——他是我们家的常客。”她直言不讳地说，仿佛在讲：“他喜欢拈花惹草。”过了一会儿她又坦然地补充道：“我觉得他是我见过的最蠢的男人了。” 这句话令她的同伴异常快活，竟使他忘记了她前一句话使他产生的微震惊。不可否认，会见一位认为范德卢顿家的公爵愚蠢、并敢于发表这一见解的女士，的确令人兴奋。他很想问问她，多听一听她的生活情况——她漫不经心的话语已经很有启发地让他窥见了一斑；然而他又担心触动她伤心的回忆。还没等他想出说什么，她已经转回到她最初的话题上了。 “梅非常可爱，我发现纽约没有哪个年轻姑娘像她那样漂亮、聪明。你很爱她吧？” 纽兰·阿切尔红了脸，笑道：“男人对女人的爱能有多深，我对她的爱就有多深。” 她继续着有所思地打量着他，仿佛不想漏掉他话中的任何一点含义似的。“这么说，你认为还有个极限？” “你是说爱的极限？假如有的话，我现在还没有发现呢！” 她深受感动地说：“啊——那一定是真实的。忠诚的爱情了？” “是最最热烈的爱情！” “太好了！这爱完全是由你们自己找到的——丝毫不是别人为你们安排的吧？” 阿切尔奇怪地看着她，面带笑容地问：“难道你忘了——在我们国家，婚姻是不允许由别人安排的？” 一片潮红升上她的面颊，他立即懊悔自己说过的话。 “是的，”她回答说，“我忘了。如果有时候我犯了这样的错误，你一定得原谅我。在这儿人们看作是好的事情，在我来的那地方却被当成坏事，可我有时候会忘记这一点。”她低头看着那把羽毛扇，他发现她的双唇在颤抖。 “非常抱歉，”他冲动地说。“可你知道，你现在是在朋友中间了。” “是的——我知道。我走到哪里都有这种感觉。这正是我回家来的原因。我想把其他的事全部忘掉，重新变成一个彻底的美国人，就像明戈特家和韦兰家的人一样，像你和你令人愉快的母亲，以及今晚在这里的所有其他的好人一样。叮，梅来了，你一定是想立即赶到她身边去了，”她又说，但没有动弹，她的目光从门口转回来，落到年轻人的脸上。 餐后的客人渐渐地挤满了客厅。顺着奥兰斯卡夫人的目光，阿切尔看到梅·韦兰正和母亲一起走进门。身穿银白色服装，头上戴着银白色花朵的花环，那位身材高挑的姑娘看起来就像刚狩猎归来的狄安娜女神。 “啊，”阿切尔说，“我的竞争者可真多呀；你瞧她已经被包围住了。那边正在介绍那位公爵呢。” “那就跟我多呆一会儿吧，”奥兰斯卡夫人低声说，并用她的羽毛扇轻轻碰了一下他的膝盖。虽然只是极轻的一碰，但却如爱抚一般令他震颤。 “好的，我留下，”他用同样的语气说，几乎不知自己在讲什么。但正在这时，范德卢顿先生过来了，后面跟着老厄本·达戈内特先生。伯爵夫人以庄重的微笑与他们招呼，阿切尔觉察到主人对他责备的目光，便起身让出了他的座位。 奥兰斯卡夫人伸出一只手，仿佛向他告别。 “那么，明天，5点钟以后——我等你，”她说，然后转身为达戈内特先生让出位置。 “明天——”阿切尔听见自己重复说，尽管事先没有约定，他们交谈时她也没向他暗示想再见他。 他走开的时候，看见身材高大、神采奕奕的劳伦斯·莱弗茨，正领着妻子走来准备被引荐给伯爵夫人。他还听见格特鲁德·莱弗茨满脸堆着茫然的笑容高兴地对伯爵夫人说：“我想我们小时候经常一起去舞蹈学校——”在她身后，等着向伯爵夫人通报姓名的人中间，阿切尔注意到还有几对拒绝在洛弗尔·明戈特太太家欢迎她的倔强夫妇。正如阿切尔太太所说的：范德卢顿夫妇只要乐意，他们知道如何教训人。奇怪的是他们乐意的时候却太少了。 年轻人觉得胳膊被碰了一下。他发现范德卢顿太太穿一身名贵的黑丝绒，戴着家族的钻石首饰，正居高临下地看着他。“亲爱的纽兰，你毫无私心地关照奥兰斯卡夫人，真是太好了。我告诉你表舅亨利，他一定要过来帮忙。” 他发觉自己茫然微笑着望着她，她仿佛俯就他腼腆的天性似地又补充说：“我从没见过梅像今天这么可爱，公爵认为她是客厅里最漂亮的姑娘。”

Chapter 9

The Countess Olenska had said "after five"; and at half after thehour Newland Archer rang the bell of the peeling stucco house with agiant wisteria throttling its feeble cast-iron balcony, which she hadhired, far down West Twenty-third Street, from the vagabond Medora. It was certainly a strange quarter to have settled in. Smalldress-makers, bird-stuffers and "people who wrote" were her nearestneighbours; and further down the dishevelled street Archer recognised adilapidated wooden house, at the end of a paved path, in which a writerand journalist called Winsett, whom he used to come across now and then,had mentioned that he lived. Winsett did not invite people to hishouse; but he had once pointed it out to Archer in the course of anocturnal stroll, and the latter had asked himself, with a littleshiver, if the humanities were so meanly housed in other capitals. Madame Olenska's own dwelling was redeemed from the same appearanceonly by a little more paint about the window-frames; and as Archermustered its modest front he said to himself that the Polish Count musthave robbed her of her fortune as well as of her illusions. The young man had spent an unsatisfactory day. He had lunched withthe Wellands, hoping afterward to carry off May for a walk in the Park.He wanted to have her to himself, to tell her how enchanting she hadlooked the night before, and how proud he was of her, and to press herto hasten their marriage. But Mrs. Welland had firmly reminded him thatthe round of family visits was not half over, and, when he hinted atadvancing the date of the wedding, had raised reproachful eye-brows andsighed out: "Twelve dozen of everything--hand-embroidered--" Packed in the family landau they rolled from one tribal doorstep toanother, and Archer, when the afternoon's round was over, parted fromhis betrothed with the feeling that he had been shown off like a wildanimal cunningly trapped. He supposed that his readings in anthropologycaused him to take such a coarse view of what was after all a simple andnatural demonstration of family feeling; but when he remembered thatthe Wellands did not expect the wedding to take place till the followingautumn, and pictured what his life would be till then, a dampness fellupon his spirit. "Tomorrow," Mrs. Welland called after him, "we'll do the Chiversesand the Dallases"; and he perceived that she was going through their twofamilies alphabetically, and that they were only in the first quarterof the alphabet. He had meant to tell May of the Countess Olenska's request--hercommand, rather--that he should call on her that afternoon; but in thebrief moments when they were alone he had had more pressing things tosay. Besides, it struck him as a little absurd to allude to the matter.He knew that May most particularly wanted him to be kind to her cousin;was it not that wish which had hastened the announcement of theirengagement? It gave him an odd sensation to reflect that, but for theCountess's arrival, he might have been, if not still a free man, atleast a man less irrevocably pledged. But May had willed it so, and hefelt himself somehow relieved of further responsibility--and thereforeat liberty, if he chose, to call on her cousin without telling her. As he stood on Madame Olenska's threshold curiosity was his uppermostfeeling. He was puzzled by the tone in which she had summoned him; heconcluded that she was less simple than she seemed. The door was opened by a swarthy foreign-looking maid, with aprominent bosom under a gay neckerchief, whom he vaguely fancied to beSicilian. She welcomed him with all her white teeth, and answering hisenquiries by a head-shake of incomprehension led him through the narrowhall into a low firelit drawing- room. The room was empty, and she lefthim, for an appreciable time, to wonder whether she had gone to find hermistress, or whether she had not understood what he was there for, andthought it might be to wind the clock--of which he perceived that theonly visible specimen had stopped. He knew that the southern racescommunicated with each other in the language of pantomime, and wasmortified to find her shrugs and smiles so unintelligible. At length shereturned with a lamp; and Archer, having meanwhile put together aphrase out of Dante and Petrarch, evoked the answer: "La signora efuori; ma verra subito"; which he took to mean: "She's out--but you'llsoon see." What he saw, meanwhile, with the help of the lamp, was the fadedshadowy charm of a room unlike any room he had known. He knew that theCountess Olenska had brought some of her possessions with her--bits ofwreckage, she called them--and these, he supposed, were represented bysome small slender tables of dark wood, a delicate little Greek bronzeon the chimney- piece, and a stretch of red damask nailed on thediscoloured wallpaper behind a couple of Italian-looking pictures in oldframes. Newland Archer prided himself on his knowledge of Italian art. Hisboyhood had been saturated with Ruskin, and he had read all the latestbooks: John Addington Symonds, Vernon Lee's "Euphorion," the essays ofP. G. Hamerton, and a wonderful new volume called "The Renaissance" byWalter Pater. He talked easily of Botticelli, and spoke of Fra Angelicowith a faint condescension. But these pictures bewildered him, for theywere like nothing that he was accustomed to look at (and therefore ableto see) when he travelled in Italy; and perhaps, also, his powers ofobservation were impaired by the oddness of finding himself in thisstrange empty house, where apparently no one expected him. He was sorrythat he had not told May Welland of Countess Olenska's request, and alittle disturbed by the thought that his betrothed might come in to seeher cousin. What would she think if she found him sitting there with theair of intimacy implied by waiting alone in the dusk at a lady'sfireside? But since he had come he meant to wait; and he sank into a chair and stretched his feet to the logs. It was odd to have summoned him in that way, and then forgotten him;but Archer felt more curious than mortified. The atmosphere of the roomwas so different from any he had ever breathed that self-consciousnessvanished in the sense of adventure. He had been before in drawing-roomshung with red damask, with pictures "of the Italian school"; what struckhim was the way in which Medora Manson's shabby hired house, with itsblighted background of pampas grass and Rogers statuettes, had, by aturn of the hand, and the skilful use of a few properties, beentransformed into something intimate, "foreign," subtly suggestive of oldromantic scenes and sentiments. He tried to analyse the trick, to find aclue to it in the way the chairs and tables were grouped, in the factthat only two Jacqueminot roses (of which nobody ever bought less than adozen) had been placed in the slender vase at his elbow, and in thevague pervading perfume that was not what one put on handkerchiefs, butrather like the scent of some far-off bazaar, a smell made up of Turkishcoffee and ambergris and dried roses. His mind wandered away to the question of what May's drawing-roomwould look like. He knew that Mr. Welland, who was behaving "veryhandsomely," already had his eye on a newly built house in EastThirty-ninth Street. The neighbourhood was thought remote, and the housewas built in a ghastly greenish- yellow stone that the youngerarchitects were beginning to employ as a protest against the brownstoneof which the uniform hue coated New York like a cold chocolate sauce;but the plumbing was perfect. Archer would have liked to travel, to putoff the housing question; but, though the Wellands approved of anextended European honeymoon (perhaps even a winter in Egypt), they werefirm as to the need of a house for the returning couple. The young manfelt that his fate was sealed: for the rest of his life he would go upevery evening between the cast-iron railings of that greenish- yellowdoorstep, and pass through a Pompeian vestibule into a hall with awainscoting of varnished yellow wood. But beyond that his imaginationcould not travel. He knew the drawing-room above had a bay window, buthe could not fancy how May would deal with it. She submitted cheerfullyto the purple satin and yellow tuftings of the Welland drawing-room, toits sham Buhl tables and gilt vitrines full of modern Saxe. He saw noreason to suppose that she would want anything different in her ownhouse; and his only comfort was to reflect that she would probably lethim arrange his library as he pleased--which would be, of course, with"sincere" Eastlake furniture, and the plain new bookcases without glassdoors. The round-bosomed maid came in, drew the curtains, pushed back a log,and said consolingly: "Verra--verra." When she had gone Archer stood upand began to wander about. Should he wait any longer? His position wasbecoming rather foolish. Perhaps he had misunderstood MadameOlenska--perhaps she had not invited him after all. Down the cobblestones of the quiet street came the ring of astepper's hoofs; they stopped before the house, and he caught theopening of a carriage door. Parting the curtains he looked out into theearly dusk. A street- lamp faced him, and in its light he saw JuliusBeaufort's compact English brougham, drawn by a big roan, and the bankerdescending from it, and helping out Madame Olenska. Beaufort stood, hat in hand, saying something which his companionseemed to negative; then they shook hands, and he jumped into hiscarriage while she mounted the steps. When she entered the room she showed no surprise at seeing Archerthere; surprise seemed the emotion that she was least addicted to. "How do you like my funny house?" she asked. "To me it's like heaven." As she spoke she untied her little velvet bonnet and tossing it awaywith her long cloak stood looking at him with meditative eyes. "You've arranged it delightfully," he rejoined, alive to the flatnessof the words, but imprisoned in the conventional by his consumingdesire to be simple and striking. "Oh, it's a poor little place. My relations despise it. But at any rate it's less gloomy than the van der Luydens'." The words gave him an electric shock, for few were the rebelliousspirits who would have dared to call the stately home of the van derLuydens gloomy. Those privileged to enter it shivered there, and spokeof it as "handsome." But suddenly he was glad that she had given voiceto the general shiver. "It's delicious--what you've done here," he repeated. "I like the little house," she admitted; "but I suppose what I likeis the blessedness of its being here, in my own country and my own town;and then, of being alone in it." She spoke so low that he hardly heardthe last phrase; but in his awkwardness he took it up. "You like so much to be alone?" "Yes; as long as my friends keep me from feeling lonely." She satdown near the fire, said: "Nastasia will bring the tea presently," andsigned to him to return to his armchair, adding: "I see you've alreadychosen your corner." Leaning back, she folded her arms behind her head, and looked at the fire under drooping lids. "This is the hour I like best--don't you?" A proper sense of his dignity caused him to answer: "I was afraidyou'd forgotten the hour. Beaufort must have been very engrossing." She looked amused. "Why--have you waited long? Mr. Beaufort took meto see a number of houses-- since it seems I'm not to be allowed to stayin this one." She appeared to dismiss both Beaufort and himself fromher mind, and went on: "I've never been in a city where there seems tobe such a feeling against living in des quartiers excentriques. Whatdoes it matter where one lives? I'm told this street is respectable." "It's not fashionable." "Fashionable! Do you all think so much of that? Why not make one'sown fashions? But I suppose I've lived too independently; at any rate, Iwant to do what you all do--I want to feel cared for and safe." He was touched, as he had been the evening before when she spoke of her need of guidance. "That's what your friends want you to feel. New York's an awfully safe place," he added with a flash of sarcasm. "Yes, isn't it? One feels that," she cried, missing the mockery."Being here is like--like--being taken on a holiday when one has been agood little girl and done all one's lessons." The analogy was well meant, but did not altogether please him. He didnot mind being flippant about New York, but disliked to hear any oneelse take the same tone. He wondered if she did not begin to see what apowerful engine it was, and how nearly it had crushed her. The LovellMingotts' dinner, patched up in extremis out of all sorts of social oddsand ends, ought to have taught her the narrowness of her escape; buteither she had been all along unaware of having skirted disaster, orelse she had lost sight of it in the triumph of the van der Luydenevening. Archer inclined to the former theory; he fancied that her NewYork was still completely undifferentiated, and the conjecture nettledhim. "Last night," he said, "New York laid itself out for you. The van der Luydens do nothing by halves." "No: how kind they are! It was such a nice party. Every one seems to have such an esteem for them." The terms were hardly adequate; she might have spoken in that way of a tea-party at the dear old Miss Lannings'. "The van der Luydens," said Archer, feeling himself pompous as hespoke, "are the most powerful influence in New York society.Unfortunately--owing to her health--they receive very seldom." She unclasped her hands from behind her head, and looked at him meditatively. "Isn't that perhaps the reason?" "The reason--?" "For their great influence; that they make themselves so rare." He coloured a little, stared at her--and suddenly felt thepenetration of the remark. At a stroke she had pricked the van derLuydens and they collapsed. He laughed, and sacrificed them. Nastasia brought the tea, with handleless Japanese cups and little covered dishes, placing the tray on a low table. "But you'll explain these things to me--you'll tell me all I ought toknow," Madame Olenska continued, leaning forward to hand him his cup. "It's you who are telling me; opening my eyes to things I'd looked at so long that I'd ceased to see them." She detached a small gold cigarette-case from one of her bracelets,held it out to him, and took a cigarette herself. On the chimney werelong spills for lighting them. "Ah, then we can both help each other. But I want help so much more. You must tell me just what to do." It was on the tip of his tongue to reply: "Don't be seen drivingabout the streets with Beaufort--" but he was being too deeply drawninto the atmosphere of the room, which was her atmosphere, and to giveadvice of that sort would have been like telling some one who wasbargaining for attar-of-roses in Samarkand that one should always beprovided with arctics for a New York winter. New York seemed muchfarther off than Samarkand, and if they were indeed to help each othershe was rendering what might prove the first of their mutual services bymaking him look at his native city objectively. Viewed thus, as throughthe wrong end of a telescope, it looked disconcertingly small anddistant; but then from Samarkand it would. A flame darted from the logs and she bent over the fire, stretchingher thin hands so close to it that a faint halo shone about the ovalnails. The light touched to russet the rings of dark hair escaping fromher braids, and made her pale face paler. "There are plenty of people to tell you what to do," Archer rejoined, obscurely envious of them. "Oh--all my aunts? And my dear old Granny?" She considered the ideaimpartially. "They're all a little vexed with me for setting up formyself--poor Granny especially. She wanted to keep me with her; but Ihad to be free--" He was impressed by this light way of speaking of theformidable Catherine, and moved by the thought of what must have givenMadame Olenska this thirst for even the loneliest kind of freedom. Butthe idea of Beaufort gnawed him. "I think I understand how you feel," he said. "Still, your family can advise you; explain differences; show you the way." She lifted her thin black eyebrows. "Is New York such a labyrinth? Ithought it so straight up and down-- like Fifth Avenue. And with all thecross streets numbered!" She seemed to guess his faint disapproval ofthis, and added, with the rare smile that enchanted her whole face: "Ifyou knew how I like it for just THAT-- the straight-up-and-downness, andthe big honest labels on everything!" He saw his chance. "Everything may be labelled-- but everybody is not." "Perhaps. I may simplify too much--but you'll warn me if I do." Sheturned from the fire to look at him. "There are only two people here whomake me feel as if they understood what I mean and could explain thingsto me: you and Mr. Beaufort." Archer winced at the joining of the names, and then, with a quickreadjustment, understood, sympathised and pitied. So close to the powersof evil she must have lived that she still breathed more freely intheir air. But since she felt that he understood her also, his businesswould be to make her see Beaufort as he really was, with all herepresented--and abhor it. He answered gently: "I understand. But just at first don't let go ofyour old friends' hands: I mean the older women, your Granny Mingott,Mrs. Welland, Mrs. van der Luyden. They like and admire you--they wantto help you." She shook her head and sighed. "Oh, I know--I know! But on conditionthat they don't hear anything unpleasant. Aunt Welland put it in thosevery words when I tried. . . . Does no one want to know the truth here,Mr. Archer? The real loneliness is living among all these kind peoplewho only ask one to pretend!" She lifted her hands to her face, and hesaw her thin shoulders shaken by a sob. "Madame Olenska!--Oh, don't, Ellen," he cried, starting up andbending over her. He drew down one of her hands, clasping and chafing itlike a child's while he murmured reassuring words; but in a moment shefreed herself, and looked up at him with wet lashes. "Does no one cry here, either? I suppose there's no need to, inheaven," she said, straightening her loosened braids with a laugh, andbending over the tea- kettle. It was burnt into his consciousness thathe had called her "Ellen"--called her so twice; and that she had notnoticed it. Far down the inverted telescope he saw the faint whitefigure of May Welland--in New York. Suddenly Nastasia put her head in to say something in her rich Italian. Madame Olenska, again with a hand at her hair, uttered an exclamationof assent--a flashing "Gia-- gia"--and the Duke of St. Austrey entered,piloting a tremendous blackwigged and red-plumed lady in overflowingfurs. "My dear Countess, I've brought an old friend of mine to seeyou--Mrs. Struthers. She wasn't asked to the party last night, and shewants to know you." The Duke beamed on the group, and Madame Olenska advanced with amurmur of welcome toward the queer couple. She seemed to have no ideahow oddly matched they were, nor what a liberty the Duke had taken inbringing his companion--and to do him justice, as Archer perceived, theDuke seemed as unaware of it himself. "Of course I want to know you, my dear," cried Mrs. Struthers in around rolling voice that matched her bold feathers and her brazen wig."I want to know everybody who's young and interesting and charming. Andthe Duke tells me you like music--didn't you, Duke? You're a pianistyourself, I believe? Well, do you want to hear Sarasate play tomorrowevening at my house? You know I've something going on every Sundayevening--it's the day when New York doesn't know what to do with itself,and so I say to it: `Come and be amused.' And the Duke thought you'd betempted by Sarasate. You'll find a number of your friends." Madame Olenska's face grew brilliant with pleasure. "How kind! Howgood of the Duke to think of me!" She pushed a chair up to the tea-tableand Mrs. Struthers sank into it delectably. "Of course I shall be toohappy to come." "That's all right, my dear. And bring your young gentleman with you."Mrs. Struthers extended a hail- fellow hand to Archer. "I can't put aname to you--but I'm sure I've met you--I've met everybody, here, or inParis or London. Aren't you in diplomacy? All the diplomatists come tome. You like music too? Duke, you must be sure to bring him." The Duke said "Rather" from the depths of his beard, and Archerwithdrew with a stiffly circular bow that made him feel as full of spineas a self-conscious school-boy among careless and unnoticing elders. He was not sorry for the denouement of his visit: he only wished ithad come sooner, and spared him a certain waste of emotion. As he wentout into the wintry night, New York again became vast and imminent, andMay Welland the loveliest woman in it. He turned into his florist's tosend her the daily box of lilies-of-the-valley which, to his confusion,he found he had forgotten that morning. As he wrote a word on his card and waited for an envelope he glancedabout the embowered shop, and his eye lit on a cluster of yellow roses.He had never seen any as sun-golden before, and his first impulse was tosend them to May instead of the lilies. But they did not look likeher--there was something too rich, too strong, in their fiery beauty. Ina sudden revulsion of mood, and almost without knowing what he did, hesigned to the florist to lay the roses in another long box, and slippedhis card into a second envelope, on which he wrote the name of theCountess Olenska; then, just as he was turning away, he drew the cardout again, and left the empty envelope on the box. "They'll go at once?" he enquired, pointing to the roses. The florist assured him that they would.

奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人说的是“5点钟以后”。5点半的时候，纽兰·阿切尔摁响了她家的门铃。那是一所灰馒剥落的住宅，一株硕大的紫藤压迫着摇摇欲坠的铸铁阳台。房子是她从四处漂泊的梅多拉手中租下的，在西23街的最南端。 她住进的确实是个陌生的地段，小裁缝、卖假货的及“搞写作的”是她的近邻。沿着这条乱哄哄的街道再往南去，在一段石铺小路的尽头，阿切尔认出一所快要倒塌的木房子，一位名叫温塞特的作家兼记者住在里面，此人阿切尔过去时常遇见，他说起过他住在这里。温塞特从不邀请人到他家作客，不过有一次夜间散步时他曾向阿切尔指出过这幢房子，当时阿切尔曾不寒而栗地自问，在其他大都市里，人们是否也住得如此简陋？ 奥兰斯卡夫人住所惟一的不同之处，仅仅是在窗框上多涂了一点儿漆。阿切尔一面审视着这幢屋子简陋的外观，一面想道：那个波兰伯爵抢走的不仅是她的财产，而且还抢走了她的幻想呢。 阿切尔闷闷不乐地过了一天。他与韦兰一家一起吃的午饭，指望饭后带着梅到公园去散散步。他想单独跟她在一起，告诉她昨天晚上她那神态有多么迷人、他多么为她感到自豪，并设法说服她早日和他成婚。然而韦兰太太却态度坚决地提醒他，家族拜访进行还不到一半呢。当他暗示想把婚礼的日期提前时，她责怪地皱起眉头，叹息着说：“还有12打手工刺绣的东西没有……” 他们挤在家用四轮马车里，从族人的一个门阶赶到另一个门阶。下午的一轮拜访结束，阿切尔与未婚妻分手之后，觉得自己仿佛是一头被巧妙捕获的野兽，刚刚被展览过一番。他想可能是因为他读了些人类学的书，才对家族感情这种单纯与自然的表露持如此粗俗的看法；想起韦兰夫妇指望明年秋天才举办婚礼，他展望这段时间的生活，心里像泼上一盆冷水。 “明天，”韦兰太太在他身后喊道，“我们去奇弗斯家和达拉斯家。”他发现她准备按字母顺序走遍他们的两个家族，而他们目前仅仅处于字母表的前四分之一。 他本打算告诉梅，奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人要求——或者不如说命令——他今天下午去看她，可是在他俩单独一起的短暂时刻，他还有更要紧的事要讲，而且他觉得提这件事有点不合情理。他知道，梅特别希望他善待她的表姐。不正是出于这种愿望，才加快了他们订婚消息的宣布吗？若不是伯爵夫人的到来，即使他不再是一个自由人，至少也不会像现在这样无可挽回地受着婚约的束缚。一想到此，他心里产生了一种奇怪的感觉。可这一切都是梅的意愿，他不由觉得自己无须承担更多的责任；因而只要他乐意，他完全可以去拜访她的表姐，而无须事先告诉她。 他站在奥兰斯卡夫人住宅的门口，心里充满了好奇。她约他前来时的口吻令他困惑不解，他断定她并不像表面上那样单纯。 一位黑黝黝的异国面孔的女佣开了门。她胸部高高隆起，戴着花哨的围巾，他隐隐约约觉得她是个西西里人。她露出满口洁白的牙齿欢迎他，对他的问询困惑地摇了摇头，带他穿过狭窄的门廊，进了一间生了火的低矮客厅。客厅里空无一人，她把他留在那儿，给他足够的时间琢磨她是去找女主人呢，还是原本就没弄明白他来此有何贵干。或者她会以为他是来给时钟上弦的吧——他发觉惟一看得见的那只钟已经停了摆。他知道南欧人常用手语相互交谈，而现在他却无法理解她的耸肩与微笑，感到十分难堪。她终于拿着一盏灯回来了，阿切尔这时已从但丁与彼特拉克的作品中拼凑出一个短语，引得她回答说：“拉西格诺拉埃夫奥里；马维拉苏比托。”他认为这句话的意思是：“她出去了——不过一会儿你就能见到她。” 同时，他借助灯光发现这屋子自有一种幽冥淡雅的魅力，与他熟悉的任何房间都不相同。他知道奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人带回来少量的财物——她称作残骸碎片。他想，这几张雅致的深色小木桌，壁炉上那一尊优美的希腊小青铜像，还有几幅装在老式画框里的好像是意大利的绘画（后面是钉在褪色墙纸上的一片红色锦缎）——便是其代表了。 纽兰·阿切尔以懂得意大利艺术而自豪。他童年时代受过拉斯金的熏陶，读过各种各样的新书：像约翰·阿丁顿·西蒙兹的作品，弗农·李的《尤福里翁》，菲·吉·哈默顿的随笔，以及瓦尔特·佩特一本叫做《文艺复兴》的绝妙新书。他谈论博蒂塞里的画如数家珍，说起拉安吉里克更有点儿不可一世。然而这几幅画却让他极为困惑，因为它们与他在意大利旅行时看惯（因此也能看懂）的那些画毫无相似之处；也许，还因为发现自己处境奇特的感觉削弱了他的观察力——他置身在这个陌生的空房子里，显然又没有谁在恭候他。他为没有把奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人的要求告诉梅·韦兰而懊悔，并且有点忐忑不安。他想，他的未婚妻有可能来这儿看望她的表姐，倘若她发现他坐在这儿，只身在一位夫人炉边的昏暗中等待着，对这种亲密的样子她会怎样想呢？ 不过既然来了，他就要等下去；于是他坐进椅子里，把脚伸向燃烧着的木柴。 她那样子召他前来，然后又把他忘掉，真是好生奇怪。但阿切尔的好奇心却超过了窘迫。屋子里的气氛是他从未经验过的，这种差异非常之大，以致他的局促不安已为历险的意识所取代。他以前也曾进过挂着红锦缎和“意大利派”绘画的客厅；使他深受触动的是，梅多拉·曼森租住的这个以蒲苇和罗杰斯小雕像为背景的寒怆住宅，通过巧用几件道具，转手之间竟改造成一个具有“异国”风味的亲切场所，令人联想起古老的浪漫情调与场面。他想分析其中的窍门，找到它的线索——从桌椅布置的方式中，从身边雅致的花瓶只放了两支红玫瑰的事实中（而任何人一次购买都不少于一打），从隐约弥漫的香气中——不是人们撒到手帕上的那一种，而更像从遥远的集市上飘来的，由土耳其咖啡、龙涎香和于玫瑰花配成的那种香味。 他的心思又转到梅的客厅上。她的客厅将会是什么样子呢？他知道韦兰先生表现“十分慷慨”，已经盯上了东39街一所新建住宅。据说，那个街区很僻静，房子是用灰蒙蒙的黄绿色石头建的，这种色调是年轻一代的建筑师刚开始启用的，用以对抗像冷巧克力酱一般覆盖着纽约的清一色的棕石，但房子的管道却十分完备。按阿切尔的心愿，他喜欢先去旅行，住宅的问题以后再考虑。然而，尽管韦兰夫妇同意延长去欧洲度蜜月的时间（也许还可到埃及呆一个冬天），但对于小夫妻回来后需要一所住宅的问题坚定不移。年轻人觉得自己的命运像加了封印似的已成定局：在他的余生中，每天晚上都要走过那个黄绿色门阶两旁的铸铁护栏，穿过庞贝城式的回廊，进入带上光黄木护壁的门厅。除此之外，他的想像力就无从驰骋了。他知道楼上的客厅有一个凸窗，可他想不出梅会怎样处理它。她高高兴兴地容忍韦兰家客厅里的紫缎子与黄栽绒，以及里面的赝品镶木桌与时新的萨克森蓝镀金玻璃框。他找不出任何理由推测她会要求自己的住宅有任何不同；惟一的安慰是她很可能让他按自己的爱好布置他的书房——那里面当然要摆放“纯正的”东湖牌家具，还有不带玻璃门的单色新书橱。 胸部丰满的女佣进来了，她拉上窗帘，往火炉里捅进一块木柴，并安慰地说：“维拉——维拉。”她离开之后，阿切尔站了起来，开始来回踱步。他还要再等下去吗？他的处境变得相当可笑，也许他当时误解了奥兰斯卡夫人的意思——也许她根本就没有邀请他。 从静悄悄的街道上传来卵石路面上迅跑的马蹄声。马车在房子前面停了下来，他瞥见马车的门打开了。他分开窗帘，朝外面初降的薄暮中望去，对面是一盏街灯，灯光下他见朱利叶斯·博福特小巧的英式四轮马车由一匹高大的花马拉着，那位银行家正搀扶着奥兰斯卡夫人下车。 博福特站住了，手里拿着帽子说着什么，似乎被他的同伴否决了。接着，他们握了握手，他跳进马车，她走上门阶。 她进了客厅，见到阿切尔一点儿也没表现出惊讶；惊讶似乎是她最不喜欢的感情。 “你觉得我这可笑的房子怎么样？”她问，“对我来说这就算天堂了。” 她一面说着，一面解开小丝绒帽的系带，把帽子连同长斗篷扔到一边。她站在那里，用沉思的目光望着他。 “你把它收拾得挺可爱，”他说，意识到了这句话的坦率，但又受到平时极欲言简意赅、出语惊人的习惯的约束。 “噢，这是个可怜的小地方，我的亲戚们瞧不起它。但不管怎样，它不像范德卢顿家那样阴沉。” 这话使他无比震惊，因为很少有人敢无法无天地说范德卢顿家宏伟的住宅阴沉。那些获得特权进去的人在里面战战兢兢，并且都称它“富丽堂皇”。猛然间，他为她说出了令众人不寒而栗的话而变得很开心。 “这儿你拾掇得——很怡人，”他重复说。 “我喜欢这个小房子，”她承认道。“不过我想，我喜欢的是它是在这里，在我自己的国家、我自己的城市，并且是我一个人住在里面。”她说得声音很低，他几乎没听清最后几个字，不过却在尴尬中理解了其要点。 “你很喜欢一个人生活？” “是的，只要朋友们别让我感到孤单就行。”她在炉火旁边坐下，说：“纳斯塔西娅马上就送茶过来。”她示意让他坐回到扶手椅里，又说：“我看你已经选好坐的位置了。” 她身子向后一仰，两只胳膊交叉放在脑后，眼睑垂下，望着炉火。 “这是我最喜欢的时间了——你呢？” 一种体面的自尊使他回答说：“刚才我还担心你已经忘掉了时间呢。博福特一定很有趣吧。” 她看上去很高兴，说：“怎么——你等了很久了吗？博福特先生带我去看了几处房子——因为看来是不会允许我继续住在这儿了。”她好像把博福特和他都给忘了似地接着说：“我从没见过哪个城市像这儿一样，认为住在偏远地区不妥。住得偏远不偏远，有什么关系吗？听人说这条街是很体面的呢。” “这儿不够时髦。” “时髦！你们都很看重这个问题吗？为什么不创造自己的时尚呢？不过我想，我过去生活得太无拘无束了，不管怎样，你们大家怎么做，我就要怎么做——我希望得到关心，得到安全感。” 他深受感动，就像前一天晚上听她说到她需要指导时那样。 “你的朋友们就是希望你有安全感，纽约是个极为安全的地方。”他略带挖苦地补上一句。 “不错，是这样。我能感觉到，”她大声地说，并没有觉察他话中的讽刺。“住在这儿就像——就像——一个听话的小姑娘做完所有的功课，被带去度假一样。” 这个比喻本是善意的，但却不能让他完全满意。他不在乎自己对纽约社会说些轻浮的话，却不喜欢听别人使用同样的腔调。他不知她是否真的还没看出，纽约社会是个威力强大的机器，曾经险些将她碾得粉碎。洛弗尔·明戈特家的宴会动用了各种社交手段，才在最后时刻得到补救——这件事应该让她明白，她的处境是多么危险。然而，要么她对躲过的灾难压根儿一无所知，要么是范德卢顿晚会的成功使她视而不见。阿切尔倾向于前一种推测。他想，她眼中的纽约对人依然是一视同仁的，这一揣测让他心烦意乱。 “昨天晚上，”他说，“纽约社交界竭尽全力地欢迎你；范德卢顿夫妇干什么事都是全心全意。” “是啊，他们对我太好了！这次聚会非常愉快。人人好像都很敬重他们。” 这说法很难算得上准确；她若如此评价可爱的老拉宁小姐的茶会还差不多。 阿切尔自命不凡地说：“范德卢顿夫妇是纽约上流社会最有影响的人物。不幸的是——由于她的健康原因——他们极少接待客人。” 她松开脑袋后面的两只手，沉思地看着他。 “也许正是这个原因吧？” “原因——？” “他们有巨大影响的原因啊；他们故意很少露面。” 他脸色有点发红，瞪大眼睛看着她——猛然顿悟了这句话的洞察力。经她轻轻一击，范德卢顿夫妇便垮台了。他放声大笑，把他们做了牺牲品。 纳斯塔西娅送来了茶水，还有无柄的日本茶杯和小盖碟。她把茶盘放在一张矮桌上。 “不过你要向我解释所有这些事情——你要告诉我我应了解的全部情况，”奥兰斯卡夫人接着说，一面向前探探身子，递给他茶杯。 “现在是你在开导我，让我睁开眼睛认清那些我看得太久因而不能认清的事物。” 她取下一个小小的金烟盒，向他递过去，她自己也拿了一支香烟。烟囱上放着点烟的长引柴。 “啊，那么我们两人可以互相帮助了。不过更需要帮助的是我，你一定要告诉我该做些什么。” 他差一点就要回答：“不要让人见到你跟博福特一起坐车逛街——”然而他此刻已被屋子里的气氛深深吸引住了，这是属于她的气氛，他如果提出这样的建议，就好像告诉一个正在萨马尔罕讨价还价买玫瑰油的人，在纽约过冬需要配备橡皮套靴。此刻，纽约似乎比萨马尔罕远多了。而假如真的要互相帮助，那么，她就应该向他提供互相帮助的证据，先帮他客观地看待他的出生地。这样就像从望远镜的反端观察，纽约显得异常渺小与遥远；不过，站到萨马尔罕那边看，情况就是如此。 一片火焰从木柴中跃起，她朝炉火弯了弯身，把瘦削的双手伸得离火很近，一团淡淡的光晕闪烁在她那椭圆的指甲周围。亮光使她发辫上散逸出的浅黑色发鬈变成了黄褐色，并使她苍白的脸色更加苍白。 “有很多人会告诉你该做些什么，”阿切尔回答说，暗暗妒忌着那些人。 “噢——你是说我那些姑妈？还有我亲爱的老奶奶？”她不带偏见地考虑这一意见。“她们都因为我要独立生活而有点恼火——尤其是可怜的奶奶，她想让我跟她住在一起，可我必须有自由——”她说起令人畏惧的凯瑟琳轻松自如，让他佩服；奥兰斯卡夫人甚至渴望最孤独的自由，想到个中原因，也令他深深感动。不过一想到博福特，他又变得心烦意乱。 “我想我能理解你的感情，”他说，“不过你的家人仍然可以给你忠告，说明种种差异，给你指明道路。” 她细细的黑眉毛向上一扬，说：“难道纽约是个迷宫吗？我还以为它像第五大街那样直来直去——而且所有的十字路都有编号！”她似乎猜到他对这种说法略有异议，又露出给她脸上增添魅力的难得的笑容补充说：“但愿你明白我多么喜欢它的这一点——直来直去，一切都贴着诚实的大标签！” 他发现机会来了。“东西可能会贴了标签——人却不然。” “也许如此，我可能过于简单化了——如果是这样，你可要警告我呀。”她从炉火那边转过身看着他说。“这里只有两个人让我觉得好像理解我的心思，并能向我解释世事：你和博福特先生。” 阿切尔对这两个名字联在一起感到一阵本能的畏缩；接着，经过迅速调整，继而又产生了理解、同情与怜悯。她过去的生活一定是与罪恶势力大接近了，以至现在仍觉得在他们的环境中反倒更自由。然而，既然她认为他也理解她，那么，他的当务之急就是让她认清博福特的真面目，以及他代表的一切，并且对之产生厌恶。 他温和地回答说：“我理解。可首先，不要放弃老朋友的帮助——我指的是那些老太太——你祖母明戈特，韦兰太太，范德卢顿太太。她们喜欢你、称赞你——她们想帮助你。” 她摇摇头，叹了口气。“懊，我知道——我知道！不过前提是她们听不见任何不愉快的事。当我想跟她谈一谈的时候，韦兰姑妈就是这样讲的。难道这里没有人想了解真相吗，阿切尔先生？生活在这些好人中间才真正地孤独呢，因为他们只要求你假装！”她抬起双手捂到脸上，他发现她那瘦削的双肩因啜泣在颤抖。 “奥兰斯卡夫人！唉，别这样，埃伦，”他喊着，惊跳起来，俯身对着她。他拉下她的一只手，紧紧握住，像抚摩孩子的手似地抚摩着，一面低低地说着安慰话。但不一会儿她便挣脱开，睫毛上带着泪水抬头看着他。 “这儿没有人哭，对吗？我想压根儿就没有哭的必要，”她说，接着笑了一声，理了理松散的发带，俯身去拿茶壶。他刚才居然叫她“埃伦”，而且叫了两次，她却没有注意到。他觉得心头滚烫。对着倒置的望远镜，在很远很远的地方，他依稀看见梅·韦兰的白色身影——那是在纽约。 突然，纳斯塔西娅探头进来，用她那圆润的嗓音用意大利语说了句什么。 奥兰斯卡夫人又用手理了下头发，喊了一声表示同意的话“吉啊——吉啊”紧接着，圣奥斯特雷公爵便走了进来，身后跟着一位身材高大的夫人，她头戴黑色假发与红色羽饰，身穿紧绷绷的裘皮外套。 “亲爱的伯爵夫人，我带了我的一位老朋友来看你——斯特拉瑟斯太太。昨晚的宴会她没得到邀请，但她很想认识你。” 公爵满脸堆笑地对着大伙儿，奥兰斯卡夫人低声说了一句欢迎，朝这奇怪的一对走去。她似乎一点也不明白，他们两人凑在一起有多奇怪，也不知道公爵带来这样一位伙伴是多么冒昧——说句公道话，据阿切尔观察，公爵本人对此也一无所知。 “我当然想认识你啦，亲爱的，”斯特拉瑟斯太太喊道，那响亮婉转的声音与她那肆无忌惮的羽饰和假发十分相称。“每一个年轻漂亮有趣的人我都想认识。公爵告诉我你喜欢音乐——对吗，公爵？我想，你本人就是个钢琴家吧？哎，你明晚想不想到我家来听萨拉塞特的演奏？你知道，每个星期天晚上我都搞点儿活动——这是纽约社交界无所事事的一天，于是我就说：‘都到我这儿来乐一乐吧。’而公爵认为，你会对萨拉塞特感兴趣的，而且你还会结识一大批朋友呢。” 奥兰斯卡夫人高兴得容光焕发。“太好了，难得公爵能想着我！”她把一把椅子推到茶桌前，斯特拉瑟斯太太美滋滋地坐了进去。“我当然很高兴去。” “那好吧，亲爱的。带着这位年轻绅士一起来。”斯特拉瑟斯太太向阿切尔友好地伸出手。“我叫不出你的名字——可我肯定见过你——所有的人我都见过，在这儿，在巴黎，或者在伦敦。你是不是干外交的？所有的外交官都到我家来玩。你也喜欢音乐吧？公爵，你一定要带他来。” 公爵从胡子底下哼了声“当然”，阿切尔向后退缩着生硬地弯腰鞠了个躬。他觉得自己就像一名害羞的小学生站在一群毫不在意的大人中间一样充满勇气。 他并不因这次造访的结局感到懊悔：他只希望收场来得快些，免得他浪费感情。当他出门走进冬季的黑夜中时，纽约又成了个庞然大物，而那位可爱的女子梅·韦兰就在其中。他转身去花商家吩咐为她送去每天必送的一匣铃兰。他羞愧地发现，早上竟把这事忘了。 他在名片上写了几个字。在等待给他拿信封时，他环顾弓形的花店，眼睛一亮，落在一簇黄玫瑰上。他过去从没见过这种阳光般金黄的花，他第一个冲动是用这种黄玫瑰代替铃兰，送给梅。然而这些花看样子不会中她的意——它们太绚丽太浓烈。一阵心血来潮，他几乎是下意识地示意花商把黄玫瑰装在另一个长匣子里，他把自己的名片装人第二个信封，在上面写上了奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人的名字。接着，他刚要转身离开，又把名片抽了出来，只留个空信封附在匣子上。 “这些花马上就送走吗？”他指着那些玫瑰问道。 花商向他保证，立刻就送。

Chapter 10

The next day he persuaded May to escape for a walk in the Park afterluncheon. As was the custom in old-fashioned Episcopalian New York, sheusually accompanied her parents to church on Sunday afternoons; but Mrs.Welland condoned her truancy, having that very morning won her over tothe necessity of a long engagement, with time to prepare ahand-embroidered trousseau containing the proper number of dozens. The day was delectable. The bare vaulting of trees along the Mall wasceiled with lapis lazuli, and arched above snow that shone likesplintered crystals. It was the weather to call out May's radiance, andshe burned like a young maple in the frost. Archer was proud of theglances turned on her, and the simple joy of possessorship cleared awayhis underlying perplexities. "It's so delicious--waking every morning to smell lilies-of-the-valley in one's room!" she said. "Yesterday they came late. I hadn't time in the morning--" "But your remembering each day to send them makes me love them somuch more than if you'd given a standing order, and they came everymorning on the minute, like one's music-teacher--as I know GertrudeLefferts's did, for instance, when she and Lawrence were engaged." "Ah--they would!" laughed Archer, amused at her keenness. He lookedsideways at her fruit-like cheek and felt rich and secure enough to add:"When I sent your lilies yesterday afternoon I saw some rather gorgeousyellow roses and packed them off to Madame Olenska. Was that right?" "How dear of you! Anything of that kind delights her. It's odd shedidn't mention it: she lunched with us today, and spoke of Mr.Beaufort's having sent her wonderful orchids, and cousin Henry van derLuyden a whole hamper of carnations from Skuytercliff. She seems sosurprised to receive flowers. Don't people send them in Europe? Shethinks it such a pretty custom." "Oh, well, no wonder mine were overshadowed by Beaufort's," saidArcher irritably. Then he remembered that he had not put a card with theroses, and was vexed at having spoken of them. He wanted to say: "Icalled on your cousin yesterday," but hesitated. If Madame Olenska hadnot spoken of his visit it might seem awkward that he should. Yet not todo so gave the affair an air of mystery that he disliked. To shake offthe question he began to talk of their own plans, their future, and Mrs.Welland's insistence on a long engagement. "If you call it long! Isabel Chivers and Reggie were engaged for twoyears: Grace and Thorley for nearly a year and a half. Why aren't wevery well off as we are?" It was the traditional maidenly interrogation, and he felt ashamed ofhimself for finding it singularly childish. No doubt she simply echoedwhat was said for her; but she was nearing her twenty-second birthday,and he wondered at what age "nice" women began to speak for themselves. "Never, if we won't let them, I suppose," he mused, and recalled hismad outburst to Mr. Sillerton Jackson: "Women ought to be as free as weare--" It would presently be his task to take the bandage from this youngwoman's eyes, and bid her look forth on the world. But how manygenerations of the women who had gone to her making had descendedbandaged to the family vault? He shivered a little, remembering some ofthe new ideas in his scientific books, and the much-cited instance ofthe Kentucky cave-fish, which had ceased to develop eyes because theyhad no use for them. What if, when he had bidden May Welland to openhers, they could only look out blankly at blankness? "We might be much better off. We might be altogether together--we might travel." Her face lit up. "That would be lovely," she owned: she would love totravel. But her mother would not understand their wanting to do thingsso differently. "As if the mere `differently' didn't account for it!" the wooer insisted. "Newland! You're so original!" she exulted. His heart sank, for he saw that he was saying all the things thatyoung men in the same situation were expected to say, and that she wasmaking the answers that instinct and tradition taught her to make--evento the point of calling him original. "Original! We're all as like each other as those dolls cut out of thesame folded paper. We're like patterns stencilled on a wall. Can't youand I strike out for ourselves, May?" He had stopped and faced her in the excitement of their discussion,and her eyes rested on him with a bright unclouded admiration. "Mercy--shall we elope?" she laughed. "If you would--" "You DO love me, Newland! I'm so happy." "But then--why not be happier?" "We can't behave like people in novels, though, can we?" "Why not--why not--why not?" She looked a little bored by his insistence. She knew very well thatthey couldn't, but it was troublesome to have to produce a reason. "I'mnot clever enough to argue with you. But that kind of thing israther--vulgar, isn't it?" she suggested, relieved to have hit on a wordthat would assuredly extinguish the whole subject. "Are you so much afraid, then, of being vulgar?" She was evidently staggered by this. "Of course I should hate it--so would you," she rejoined, a trifle irritably. He stood silent, beating his stick nervously against his boot-top;and feeling that she had indeed found the right way of closing thediscussion, she went on light- heartedly: "Oh, did I tell you that Ishowed Ellen my ring? She thinks it the most beautiful setting she eversaw. There's nothing like it in the rue de la Paix, she said. I do loveyou, Newland, for being so artistic!" The next afternoon, as Archer, before dinner, sat smoking sullenly inhis study, Janey wandered in on him. He had failed to stop at his clubon the way up from the office where he exercised the profession of thelaw in the leisurely manner common to well-to-do New Yorkers of hisclass. He was out of spirits and slightly out of temper, and a hauntinghorror of doing the same thing every day at the same hour besieged hisbrain. "Sameness--sameness!" he muttered, the word running through his headlike a persecuting tune as he saw the familiar tall-hatted figureslounging behind the plate- glass; and because he usually dropped in atthe club at that hour he had gone home instead. He knew not only whatthey were likely to be talking about, but the part each one would takein the discussion. The Duke of course would be their principal theme;though the appearance in Fifth Avenue of a golden-haired lady in a smallcanary-coloured brougham with a pair of black cobs (for which Beaufortwas generally thought responsible) would also doubtless be thoroughlygone into. Such "women" (as they were called) were few in New York,those driving their own carriages still fewer, and the appearance ofMiss Fanny Ring in Fifth Avenue at the fashionable hour had profoundlyagitated society. Only the day before, her carriage had passed Mrs.Lovell Mingott's, and the latter had instantly rung the little bell ather elbow and ordered the coachman to drive her home. "What if it hadhappened to Mrs. van der Luyden?" people asked each other with ashudder. Archer could hear Lawrence Lefferts, at that very hour, holdingforth on the disintegration of society. He raised his head irritably when his sister Janey entered, and thenquickly bent over his book (Swinburne's "Chastelard"--just out) as if hehad not seen her. She glanced at the writing-table heaped with books,opened a volume of the "Contes Drolatiques," made a wry face over thearchaic French, and sighed: "What learned things you read!" "Well--?" he asked, as she hovered Cassandra-like before him. "Mother's very angry." "Angry? With whom? About what?" "Miss Sophy Jackson has just been here. She brought word that herbrother would come in after dinner: she couldn't say very much, becausehe forbade her to: he wishes to give all the details himself. He's withcousin Louisa van der Luyden now." "For heaven's sake, my dear girl, try a fresh start. It would take an omniscient Deity to know what you're talking about." "It's not a time to be profane, Newland. . . . Mother feels badly enough about your not going to church . . ." With a groan he plunged back into his book. "NEWLAND! Do listen. Your friend Madame Olenska was at Mrs. LemuelStruthers's party last night: she went there with the Duke and Mr.Beaufort." At the last clause of this announcement a senseless anger swelled theyoung man's breast. To smother it he laughed. "Well, what of it? I knewshe meant to." Janey paled and her eyes began to project. "You knew she meant to--and you didn't try to stop her? To warn her?" "Stop her? Warn her?" He laughed again. "I'm not engaged to bemarried to the Countess Olenska!" The words had a fantastic sound in hisown ears. "You're marrying into her family." "Oh, family--family!" he jeered. "Newland--don't you care about Family?" "Not a brass farthing." "Nor about what cousin Louisa van der Luyden will think?" "Not the half of one--if she thinks such old maid's rubbish." "Mother is not an old maid," said his virgin sister with pinched lips. He felt like shouting back: "Yes, she is, and so are the van derLuydens, and so we all are, when it comes to being so much as brushed bythe wing-tip of Reality." But he saw her long gentle face puckeringinto tears, and felt ashamed of the useless pain he was inflicting. "Hang Countess Olenska! Don't be a goose, Janey-- I'm not her keeper." "No; but you DID ask the Wellands to announce your engagement soonerso that we might all back her up; and if it hadn't been for that cousinLouisa would never have invited her to the dinner for the Duke." "Well--what harm was there in inviting her? She was the best-lookingwoman in the room; she made the dinner a little less funereal than theusual van der Luyden banquet." "You know cousin Henry asked her to please you: he persuaded cousinLouisa. And now they're so upset that they're going back to Skuyterclifftomorrow. I think, Newland, you'd better come down. You don't seem tounderstand how mother feels." In the drawing-room Newland found his mother. She raised a troubled brow from her needlework to ask: "Has Janey told you?" "Yes." He tried to keep his tone as measured as her own. "But I can't take it very seriously." "Not the fact of having offended cousin Louisa and cousin Henry?" "The fact that they can be offended by such a trifle as Countess Olenska's going to the house of a woman they consider common." "Consider--!" "Well, who is; but who has good music, and amuses people on Sunday evenings, when the whole of New York is dying of inanition." "Good music? All I know is, there was a woman who got up on a tableand sang the things they sing at the places you go to in Paris. Therewas smoking and champagne." "Well--that kind of thing happens in other places, and the world still goes on." "I don't suppose, dear, you're really defending the French Sunday?" "I've heard you often enough, mother, grumble at the English Sunday when we've been in London." "New York is neither Paris nor London." "Oh, no, it's not!" her son groaned. "You mean, I suppose, that society here is not as brilliant? You'reright, I daresay; but we belong here, and people should respect our wayswhen they come among us. Ellen Olenska especially: she came back to getaway from the kind of life people lead in brilliant societies." Newland made no answer, and after a moment his mother ventured: "Iwas going to put on my bonnet and ask you to take me to see cousinLouisa for a moment before dinner." He frowned, and she continued: "Ithought you might explain to her what you've just said: that societyabroad is different . . . that people are not as particular, and thatMadame Olenska may not have realised how we feel about such things. Itwould be, you know, dear," she added with an innocent adroitness, "inMadame Olenska's interest if you did." "Dearest mother, I really don't see how we're concerned in thematter. The Duke took Madame Olenska to Mrs. Struthers's--in fact hebrought Mrs. Struthers to call on her. I was there when they came. Ifthe van der Luydens want to quarrel with anybody, the real culprit isunder their own roof." "Quarrel? Newland, did you ever know of cousin Henry's quarrelling?Besides, the Duke's his guest; and a stranger too. Strangers don'tdiscriminate: how should they? Countess Olenska is a New Yorker, andshould have respected the feelings of New York." "Well, then, if they must have a victim, you have my leave to throwMadame Olenska to them," cried her son, exasperated. "I don't seemyself--or you either-- offering ourselves up to expiate her crimes." "Oh, of course you see only the Mingott side," his mother answered,in the sensitive tone that was her nearest approach to anger. The sad butler drew back the drawing-room portieres and announced: "Mr. Henry van der Luyden." Mrs. Archer dropped her needle and pushed her chair back with an agitated hand. "Another lamp," she cried to the retreating servant, while Janey bent over to straighten her mother's cap. Mr. van der Luyden's figure loomed on the threshold, and Newland Archer went forward to greet his cousin. "We were just talking about you, sir," he said. Mr. van der Luyden seemed overwhelmed by the announcement. He drewoff his glove to shake hands with the ladies, and smoothed his tall hatshyly, while Janey pushed an arm-chair forward, and Archer continued:"And the Countess Olenska." Mrs. Archer paled. "Ah--a charming woman. I have just been to see her," said Mr. van derLuyden, complacency restored to his brow. He sank into the chair, laidhis hat and gloves on the floor beside him in the old-fashioned way, andwent on: "She has a real gift for arranging flowers. I had sent her afew carnations from Skuytercliff, and I was astonished. Instead ofmassing them in big bunches as our head-gardener does, she had scatteredthem about loosely, here and there . . . I can't say how. The Duke hadtold me: he said: `Go and see how cleverly she's arranged herdrawing-room.' And she has. I should really like to take Louisa to seeher, if the neighbourhood were not so--unpleasant." A dead silence greeted this unusual flow of words from Mr. van derLuyden. Mrs. Archer drew her embroidery out of the basket into which shehad nervously tumbled it, and Newland, leaning against thechimney-place and twisting a humming-bird-feather screen in his hand,saw Janey's gaping countenance lit up by the coming of the second lamp. "The fact is," Mr. van der Luyden continued, stroking his long greyleg with a bloodless hand weighed down by the Patroon's greatsignet-ring, "the fact is, I dropped in to thank her for the very prettynote she wrote me about my flowers; and also--but this is betweenourselves, of course--to give her a friendly warning about allowing theDuke to carry her off to parties with him. I don't know if you'veheard--" Mrs. Archer produced an indulgent smile. "Has the Duke been carrying her off to parties?" "You know what these English grandees are. They're all alike. Louisaand I are very fond of our cousin--but it's hopeless to expect peoplewho are accustomed to the European courts to trouble themselves aboutour little republican distinctions. The Duke goes where he's amused."Mr. van der Luyden paused, but no one spoke. "Yes--it seems he took herwith him last night to Mrs. Lemuel Struthers's. Sillerton Jackson hasjust been to us with the foolish story, and Louisa was rather troubled.So I thought the shortest way was to go straight to Countess Olenska andexplain--by the merest hint, you know--how we feel in New York aboutcertain things. I felt I might, without indelicacy, because the eveningshe dined with us she rather suggested . . . rather let me see that shewould be grateful for guidance. And she WAS." Mr. van der Luyden looked about the room with what would have beenself-satisfaction on features less purged of the vulgar passions. On hisface it became a mild benevolence which Mrs. Archer's countenancedutifully reflected. "How kind you both are, dear Henry--always! Newland will particularlyappreciate what you have done because of dear May and his newrelations." She shot an admonitory glance at her son, who said: "Immensely, sir. But I was sure you'd like Madame Olenska." Mr. van der Luyden looked at him with extreme gentleness. "I neverask to my house, my dear Newland," he said, "any one whom I do not like.And so I have just told Sillerton Jackson." With a glance at the clockhe rose and added: "But Louisa will be waiting. We are dining early, totake the Duke to the Opera." After the portieres had solemnly closed behind their visitor a silence fell upon the Archer family. "Gracious--how romantic!" at last broke explosively from Janey. Noone knew exactly what inspired her elliptic comments, and her relationshad long since given up trying to interpret them. Mrs. Archer shook her head with a sigh. "Provided it all turns outfor the best," she said, in the tone of one who knows how surely it willnot. "Newland, you must stay and see Sillerton Jackson when he comesthis evening: I really shan't know what to say to him." "Poor mother! But he won't come--" her son laughed, stooping to kiss away her frown.

第二天，他说服梅脱出身来，午饭后到公园去散步。按照纽约圣公会教徒的老习惯，她在星期天下午一般是要陪父母去教堂的。不过就在上午，韦兰太太刚刚说通她同意将订婚期延长，以便有时间准备足够的手工刺绣作嫁妆，所以就宽容了她的偷懒。 天气十分信人。碧蓝的天空衬托着林阴大道上那些树木光秃秃的圆顶，树顶下面的残雪像无数水晶碎片熠熠闪光。这天气使得梅容光焕发，像霜雪中的一棵小枫树那样光彩夺目。阿切尔为路人投向她的目光而感到自豪，占有者率直的幸福感清除了他内心深处的烦恼。 “每天清晨醒来在自己屋里闻到铃兰的香味，真是太美了！”她说。 “昨天送晚了，上午我没时间——” “可你天天都想到送鲜花来，这比长期预订更让我喜欢。而且每天早晨都按时送到，就像音乐教师那样准时——比如就我所知，格特鲁德·莱弗茨和劳伦斯订婚期间，她就是这样。” “啊，这是完全应该的！”阿切尔笑着说，觉得她那热诚的样子很有趣。他斜视着她苹果般的脸颊，想起昨天送花的事，觉得虽然荒唐却也很安全，不由得说道：“我昨天下午给你送铃兰的时候，看到几支漂亮的黄玫瑰，便叫人给奥兰斯卡夫人送去了。你说好吗？” “你真可爱！这样的事会让她十分高兴的。奇怪，她怎么没提呢？她今天跟我们一起吃的午饭，还说起博福特先生给她送去了漂亮的兰花，亨利·范德卢顿送了满满一篮斯库特克利夫的石竹呢。她收到花好像十分惊讶。难道欧洲人不送鲜花吗？不过她认为这种风俗非常好。” “噢，一准是我的花被博福特的压住了，”阿切尔烦躁地说。接着他想起自己没有随玫瑰花附上名片，又懊悔说出了这件事。他想说，“我昨天拜访了你的表姐”，但又犹豫了。假如奥兰斯卡夫人没有讲起他的拜访，他说出来似乎有些尴尬。然而不讲又会使事情带上一层神秘色彩，他不喜欢那样。为了甩掉这个问题，他开始谈论他们自己的计划，他们的未来，以及韦兰太太坚持要延长订婚期的事。 “这还算长！伊莎贝尔·奇弗斯和里吉的订婚期是两年，格雷斯和索利差不多有一年半。我们这样不是很好吗？” 这是少女习惯性的反问，他觉得特别幼稚，并为此感到惭愧。她无疑是在重复别人对她说过的话，可是她都快满22岁了，他不明白，“有教养”的女子要到多大年龄才能开始替自己说话。 “她们永远不会的，假如我们不允许她们，”他在心里想道。他突然记起了他对西勒顿·杰克逊说过的那句义正词严的话：“女人应当跟我们一样自由——” 他眼下的任务是取下蒙在这位年轻女子眼上的绷带，让她睁开眼睛看一看世界。然而，在她之前，已经有多少代像她这样的女人，带着蒙在眼上的绷带沉入了家族的地下灵堂呢？他不禁打了个冷颤，想起在科学书籍中读到的一些新思想，还想起经常被引证的肯塔基的岩洞鱼，那种鱼由于眼睛派不上用场，它们的眼睛已经大大退化了。假如他让梅·韦兰睁开眼睛，她只能茫然地看到一片空白，那该怎么办呢？ “我们可以过得更快乐，我们可以始终在一起——我们可以去旅行。” 她脸上露出喜色说：“那倒是很美。”她承认她喜爱旅行，但他们想做的事那么与众不同，她母亲是不会理解的。 “好像这还不仅仅是‘与众不同’的问题！”阿切尔坚持说。 “纽兰！你是多么独特呀！”她高兴地说。 他的心不由一沉。他觉得自己讲的完全是处于同样情况下的年轻人肯定要讲的内容，而她的回答却完全是本能与传统教她的那种回答。她居然会说他“独特”！ “有什么‘独特’的！我们全都跟用同一块折叠的纸剪出的娃娃一样相似，我们就像用模板印在墙上的图案。难道你我不能走自己的路吗，梅？” 他打住话头，面对着她，沉浸在因讨论产生的兴奋之中；她望着他，目光里闪烁着欣喜明朗的倾慕。 “天哪——我们私奔好吗？”她笑着说。 “如果你肯——” “你确实很爱我，纽兰！我真幸福。” “那么——为什么不更幸福些？” “可是，我们也不能像小说中的人那样啊，对吗？” “为什么不——为什么不——为什么不呢？” 她看上去对他的执拗有点不悦，她很清楚他们不能那样做，不过要说清道理却又很难。“我没那么聪明，无法跟你争论。可那种事有点——粗俗，不是吗？”她暗示说，因为想出了一个肯定能结束这个话题的词而松了口气。 “这么说，你是很害怕粗俗了？” 她显然被这话吓了一跳。“我当然会讨厌了——你也会的，”她有点生气地回答说。 他站在那儿一语不发，神经质地用手杖敲着他的靴子尖，觉得她的确找到了结束争论的好办法。她心情轻松地接着说：“喂，我让埃伦看过我的戒指了，我告诉过你了吗？她认为这是她见过的最美的镶嵌了。她说，贝克斯大街上根本没有能与之相比的货色。我太爱你了，纽兰，因为你这么有艺术眼光。” 第二天晚饭之前，阿切尔正心情阴郁地坐在书房里吸烟，詹尼漫步进来走到他跟前。他今天从事务所回来的路上，没有去俱乐部逗留。他从事法律职业，对待工作像纽约他那个富有阶级的其他人一样漫不经心。他情绪低落，心烦意乱。每天在同一时间都要干同样的事，这使他脑子里塞满了挥之不去的痛苦。 “千篇一律——千篇一律！”他看着玻璃板后面那些百无聊赖的戴高帽子的熟悉身影咕哝说，这话像纠缠不休的乐曲在他脑袋里不停地回响，平时这个时候他都是在俱乐部逗留，而今天他却直接回了家。他不仅知道他们可能谈论什么，而且还知道每个人在讨论中站在哪一方。公爵当然会是他们谈论的主题，尽管那位乘坐一对黑色矮脚马拉的淡黄色小马车的金发女子在第五大街的露面（此事人们普遍认为归功于博福特）无疑也将会被他们深入的研究。这样的“女人”（人们如此称呼她们）在纽约还很少见，自己驾驶马车的就更稀罕了。范妮·琳小姐在社交时间出现在第五大街，深深刺激了上流社会。就在前一天，她的马车从洛弗尔·明戈特太太的车旁驶过，后者立即摇了摇身边的小铃铛，命令车夫马上送她回家。“这事若发生在范德卢顿太太身上，又会怎样呢？”人们不寒而栗地相互问道。此时此刻，阿切尔甚至仿佛能听见劳伦斯·莱弗茨正就社交界的分崩离析发表高见。 妹妹詹尼进屋的时候，他烦躁地抬起头来，接着又迅速俯身读他的书（斯温伯恩的《沙特拉尔》——刚出版的），仿佛没看见她一样。她瞥了一眼堆满书籍的写字台，打开一卷《幽默故事》，对着那些古法语愁眉苦脸地说：“你读的东西好深奥呀！” “嗯——？”他问道，只见她像卡珊德拉一样站在面前。 “妈妈非常生气呢。” “生气？跟谁？为什么？” “索菲·杰克逊小姐刚才来过，捎话说她哥哥晚饭后要来我们家；她不能多讲，因为他不许她讲，他要亲自告诉我们全部细节。他现在跟路易莎·范德卢顿在一起。” “老天爷，我的好姑娘，求你从头讲一遍。只有全能的上帝才能听明白你讲的究竟是什么事。” “这可不是亵渎神灵的时候，纽兰……你没去教堂的事让妈妈伤心透了……” 他哼了一声，又埋头读他的书去了。 “纽兰！你听着，你的朋友奥兰斯卡夫人昨晚参加了莱姆尔·斯特拉瑟斯太太的宴会，她是跟公爵和博福特先生一起去的。” 听了最后一句话，一团无名火涌上年轻人的心头。为了压住怒火，他放声大笑起来。“哈哈，这有什么了不起？我本来就知道她要去的。” 詹尼脸色煞白，两眼发直。“你本来就知道她要去——而你却没有设法阻止她，警告她？” “阻止她，警告她？”他又大笑起来。“我的婚约又不是要我娶奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人！” “可你就要跟她的家庭结亲了。” “哼，什么家庭——家庭！”他嘲笑说。 “纽兰——难道你不关心家庭吗？” “我毫不在乎。” “连路易莎·范德卢顿会怎样想也不在乎？” “半点都不——假如她想的是这种老处女的废话。” “妈妈可不是老处女，”身为处女的妹妹噘着嘴说。 他想朝她大叫大嚷：“不，她是个老处女。范德卢顿夫妇也是老处女。而且一旦被现实廓清面目之后，我们大家全都是老处女。”然而，一看到她那张文静的长脸皱缩着流下了眼泪，他又为使她蒙受痛苦而感到惭愧了。 “去他的奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人！别像个小傻瓜似的，詹尼——我可不是她的监护人。” “对；可你要求韦兰家提前宣布你的订婚消息，还不是为了让我们都去支持她？而且，若不是这个理由，路易莎也决不会请她参加为公爵举办的宴会。” “哎——邀请了她又有何妨？她成了客厅里最漂亮的女人，她使得晚宴比范德卢顿平日那种宴会少了不少丧葬气氛。” “你知道亨利表亲邀请她是为了让你高兴，是他说服了路易莎。他们现在很烦恼，准备明天就回斯库特克利夫去。我想，你最好下去一趟，纽兰。看来你还不理解妈妈的心情。” 纽兰在客厅里见到了母亲。她停下针线活，抬起忧虑的额头问道：“詹尼告诉你了吗？” “告诉了，”他尽量用像她那样审慎的语气说。“不过我看问题没那么严重。” “得罪了路易莎和亨利表亲还不严重？” “我是说奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人去了一个他们认为是平民的女人家，他们不会为这样一件小事生气。” “认为——？” “哦，她就是平民；不过她有好的音乐天赋，在星期天晚上整个纽约空虚得要命时给人们助兴。” “音乐天赋？据我所知，有个女人爬到了桌子上，唱了那种你在巴黎去的那些去处才唱的东西。还吸烟喝香摈呢。” “唔——这种事在其他地方也有，可地球还不是照转不误！” “我想，亲爱的，你不是当真在为法国的星期天辩护吧？” “妈妈，我们在伦敦的时候，我可是常听你抱怨英国的星期天呢。” “纽约既不是巴黎，也不是伦敦。” “噢，对，不是！”儿子哼着说。 “我想，你的意思是这里的社交界不够出色？我敢说，你说得很对；但我们属于这里。有人来到我们中间就应该尊重我们的生活方式，尤其是埃伦·奥兰斯卡：她来这儿不就是为了摆脱在出色的社交界过的那种生活嘛。” 纽兰没有回答。过了一会儿，她母亲又试探地说：“我刚才正要戴上帽子，让你带我在晚饭前去见一见路易莎。”他皱起了眉头，她接着说：“我以为你可以向她解释一下你刚刚说过的话：国外的社交界有所不同……人们并不那么计较。还有，奥兰斯卡夫人可能没想到我们对这种事情的态度。你知道，亲爱的，”她故作天真地巧言补充说：“如果你这么做，对奥兰斯卡夫人是很有好处的。” “亲爱的妈妈，我真不明白，我们与这件事有什么相干。是公爵带奥兰斯卡夫人到斯特拉瑟斯太太家去的——实际上是他先带了斯特拉瑟斯太太去拜访了她。他们去的时候我在那儿。假如范德卢顿夫妇想跟谁吵架，真正的教唆犯就在他们自己家。” “吵架？纽兰，你听说过，亨利表兄吵过架吗？而且，公爵是他的客人，又是个外国人，外国人不见怪，他们怎么会吵架呢？奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人是个纽约人，她倒是应该尊重纽约人的感情的。” “嗯，如果他们一定要找一个牺牲品，那我同意你把奥兰斯卡夫人交给他们，”儿子恼怒地喊道。“我是不会——你也未必会——自动替她抵罪的。” “你当然只会为明戈特一方考虑了，”母亲回答说，她语气很敏感，眼看就要发怒了。 脸色阴郁的管家拉起了客厅的门帘，通报说：“亨利·范德卢顿先生到。” 阿切尔太太扔下手中的针，用颤抖的手把椅子向后推了推。 “再点一盏灯，”她向退出去的仆人喊道，詹尼这时正低头抚平母亲的便帽。 范德卢顿先生的身影出现在门口，纽兰·阿切尔走上前去欢迎这位表亲。 “我们正在谈论你呢，大人，’他说。 范德卢顿先生听了这一消息似乎深受感动，他脱掉手套去跟女士们握手，然后小心地抚平他的高礼帽，这时詹尼将一把扶手椅推到前边，阿切尔则接着说：“还说到奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人。” 阿切尔太太脸色煞白。 “啊——一个迷人的女子。我刚去看过她，”范德卢顿先生说，得意的神情又回到他的脸上。他坐到椅子上，按老习惯把礼帽和手套放在身旁的地板上，接着说：“她布置鲜花可真有天才，我给她送去一点斯库特克利夫的石竹花。让我吃了一惊的是，她不是像园丁那样把它们集成一束一束的，而是随意地把它们散开，这儿一些，那儿一些……我不知道她怎么那么灵巧。公爵事前告诉过我，他说：‘去瞧瞧她布置客厅有多巧吧。’确实不错。我本想带路易莎去看她来着，若不是周围环境那样——不愉快。” 迎接范德卢顿先生非同寻常的滔滔话语的是一阵死寂。阿切尔太太从篮子里抽出她刚才紧张地塞在里面的刺绣，阿切尔倚在壁炉边，拧着手中的蜂鸟羽毛帘子，他看见詹尼目瞪口呆的表情被送来的第二盏灯照得一清二楚。 “事实上，”范德卢顿先生接着说，一面用一只没有血色的手抚摩着他那长长的灰靴筒，手上戴着那枚硕大的庄园主图章戒指。“事实上，我的顺访是为了感谢她为那些花而写的非常漂亮的回函；还想——这一点可别向外传——向她提出友好的警告，叫她别让公爵随便带着去参加聚会。我不知你们是否听到了——” 阿切尔太太脸上露出宽容的微笑。“公爵是诱使她参加聚会了吗？” “你知道这些英国显贵的德性，他们全都一样。路易莎和我很喜欢我们这位表亲——不过指望习惯了欧洲宅邸的人劳神去留心我们共和主义的小小差别，那是绝对办不到的。哪里能寻开心，公爵就到哪里去。”范德卢顿停顿一下，但没有人吭声。“是的——看来昨晚是他带她到莱姆尔·斯特拉瑟斯太太家去的。西勒顿·杰克逊刚才到我们家去过，讲了这件荒唐事。路易莎很不安。所以我想最好的捷径就是直接去找奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人，并向她说明——仅仅是暗示，你知道——在纽约我们对某些事情的看法。我觉得我可以做到这一点，而且不会有什么不得体，因为她同我们一起进晚餐的那天晚上，她好像说过——让我想想看——她会感激对她的指导，而她的确如此。” 范德卢顿先生四面看了看，那神态若是出现在普通的庸俗之辈的脸上，满可以称得上是一种自鸣得意。但在他的脸上，却是一种淡淡的仁慈；阿切尔太太一见，马上义不容辞地露出了同样的表情。 “你们俩真是太仁慈了，亲爱的亨利——而且是一贯如此呀！你对梅和他的新亲戚的关照，纽兰会分外感激的。” 她向儿子投去敦促的目光。儿子说：“感激不尽，大人。不过我早知道你会喜欢奥兰斯卡夫人的。” 范德卢顿先生极有风度地看着他说：“亲爱的纽兰，我从来不请任何我不喜欢的人到我家作客。我刚才也对西勒顿·杰克逊这样讲过。”他瞥了一眼时钟站了起来，接着说：“路易莎要等我了。我们准备早点儿吃饭，带公爵去听歌剧。” 门帘在客人身后庄严地合拢之后，一片沉寂降临在阿切尔的家人之中。 “真高雅——太浪漫了！”詹尼终于爆发似地说。谁都不明白什么事激发了她这简洁的评论，她的亲人早已放弃了解释这种评论的企图。 阿切尔太太叹口气摇了摇头。“但愿结果是皆大欢喜，”她说，那口气却明知绝对不可能。“纽兰，你一定要待在家里，等晚上西勒顿·杰克逊先生来的时候见见他，我真的不知该对他说些什么。” “可怜的妈妈！可是他不会来了——”儿子笑着说，一面弯身吻开她的愁眉。

Company as a book in New York
，

Chapter 11

Some two weeks later, Newland Archer, sitting in abstracted idlenessin his private compartment of the office of Letterblair, Lamson and Low,attorneys at law, was summoned by the head of the firm. Old Mr. Letterblair, the accredited legal adviser of threegenerations of New York gentility, throned behind his mahogany desk inevident perplexity. As he stroked his closeclipped white whiskers andran his hand through the rumpled grey locks above his jutting brows, hisdisrespectful junior partner thought how much he looked like the FamilyPhysician annoyed with a patient whose symptoms refuse to beclassified. "My dear sir--" he always addressed Archer as "sir"--"I have sent foryou to go into a little matter; a matter which, for the moment, Iprefer not to mention either to Mr. Skipworth or Mr. Redwood." Thegentlemen he spoke of were the other senior partners of the firm; for,as was always the case with legal associations of old standing in NewYork, all the partners named on the office letter-head were long sincedead; and Mr. Letterblair, for example, was, professionally speaking,his own grandson. He leaned back in his chair with a furrowed brow. "For family reasons--" he continued. Archer looked up. "The Mingott family," said Mr. Letterblair with an explanatory smileand bow. "Mrs. Manson Mingott sent for me yesterday. Her grand-daughterthe Countess Olenska wishes to sue her husband for divorce. Certainpapers have been placed in my hands." He paused and drummed on his desk."In view of your prospective alliance with the family I should like toconsult you--to consider the case with you--before taking any farthersteps." Archer felt the blood in his temples. He had seen the CountessOlenska only once since his visit to her, and then at the Opera, in theMingott box. During this interval she had become a less vivid andimportunate image, receding from his foreground as May Welland resumedher rightful place in it. He had not heard her divorce spoken of sinceJaney's first random allusion to it, and had dismissed the tale asunfounded gossip. Theoretically, the idea of divorce was almost asdistasteful to him as to his mother; and he was annoyed that Mr.Letterblair (no doubt prompted by old Catherine Mingott) should be soevidently planning to draw him into the affair. After all, there wereplenty of Mingott men for such jobs, and as yet he was not even aMingott by marriage. He waited for the senior partner to continue. Mr. Letterblairunlocked a drawer and drew out a packet. "If you will run your eye overthese papers--" Archer frowned. "I beg your pardon, sir; but just because of theprospective relationship, I should prefer your consulting Mr. Skipworthor Mr. Redwood." Mr. Letterblair looked surprised and slightly offended. It was unusual for a junior to reject such an opening. He bowed. "I respect your scruple, sir; but in this case I believetrue delicacy requires you to do as I ask. Indeed, the suggestion is notmine but Mrs. Manson Mingott's and her son's. I have seen LovellMingott; and also Mr. Welland. They all named you." Archer felt his temper rising. He had been somewhat languidlydrifting with events for the last fortnight, and letting May's fairlooks and radiant nature obliterate the rather importunate pressure ofthe Mingott claims. But this behest of old Mrs. Mingott's roused him to asense of what the clan thought they had the right to exact from aprospective son-in-law; and he chafed at the role. "Her uncles ought to deal with this," he said. "They have. The matter has been gone into by the family. They areopposed to the Countess's idea; but she is firm, and insists on a legalopinion." The young man was silent: he had not opened the packet in his hand. "Does she want to marry again?" "I believe it is suggested; but she denies it." "Then--" "Will you oblige me, Mr. Archer, by first looking through thesepapers? Afterward, when we have talked the case over, I will give you myopinion." Archer withdrew reluctantly with the unwelcome documents. Since theirlast meeting he had half-unconsciously collaborated with events inridding himself of the burden of Madame Olenska. His hour alone with herby the firelight had drawn them into a momentary intimacy on which theDuke of St. Austrey's intrusion with Mrs. Lemuel Struthers, and theCountess's joyous greeting of them, had rather providentially broken.Two days later Archer had assisted at the comedy of her reinstatement inthe van der Luydens' favour, and had said to himself, with a touch oftartness, that a lady who knew how to thank all-powerful elderlygentlemen to such good purpose for a bunch of flowers did not needeither the private consolations or the public championship of a youngman of his small compass. To look at the matter in this light simplifiedhis own case and surprisingly furbished up all the dim domesticvirtues. He could not picture May Welland, in whatever conceivableemergency, hawking about her private difficulties and lavishing herconfidences on strange men; and she had never seemed to him finer orfairer than in the week that followed. He had even yielded to her wishfor a long engagement, since she had found the one disarming answer tohis plea for haste. "You know, when it comes to the point, your parents have always letyou have your way ever since you were a little girl," he argued; and shehad answered, with her clearest look: "Yes; and that's what makes it sohard to refuse the very last thing they'll ever ask of me as a littlegirl." That was the old New York note; that was the kind of answer he wouldlike always to be sure of his wife's making. If one had habituallybreathed the New York air there were times when anything lesscrystalline seemed stifling. The papers he had retired to read did not tell him much in fact; butthey plunged him into an atmosphere in which he choked and spluttered.They consisted mainly of an exchange of letters between Count Olenski'ssolicitors and a French legal firm to whom the Countess had applied forthe settlement of her financial situation. There was also a short letterfrom the Count to his wife: after reading it, Newland Archer rose,jammed the papers back into their envelope, and reentered Mr.Letterblair's office. "Here are the letters, sir. If you wish, I'll see Madame Olenska," he said in a constrained voice. "Thank you--thank you, Mr. Archer. Come and dine with me tonight ifyou're free, and we'll go into the matter afterward: in case you wish tocall on our client tomorrow." Newland Archer walked straight home again that afternoon. It was awinter evening of transparent clearness, with an innocent young moonabove the house- tops; and he wanted to fill his soul's lungs with thepure radiance, and not exchange a word with any one till he and Mr.Letterblair were closeted together after dinner. It was impossible todecide otherwise than he had done: he must see Madame Olenska himselfrather than let her secrets be bared to other eyes. A great wave ofcompassion had swept away his indifference and impatience: she stoodbefore him as an exposed and pitiful figure, to be saved at all costsfrom farther wounding herself in her mad plunges against fate. He remembered what she had told him of Mrs. Welland's request to bespared whatever was "unpleasant" in her history, and winced at thethought that it was perhaps this attitude of mind which kept the NewYork air so pure. "Are we only Pharisees after all?" he wondered,puzzled by the effort to reconcile his instinctive disgust at humanvileness with his equally instinctive pity for human frailty. For the first time he perceived how elementary his own principles hadalways been. He passed for a young man who had not been afraid ofrisks, and he knew that his secret love-affair with poor silly Mrs.Thorley Rushworth had not been too secret to invest him with a becomingair of adventure. But Mrs. Rushworth was "that kind of woman"; foolish,vain, clandestine by nature, and far more attracted by the secrecy andperil of the affair than by such charms and qualities as he possessed.When the fact dawned on him it nearly broke his heart, but now it seemedthe redeeming feature of the case. The affair, in short, had been ofthe kind that most of the young men of his age had been through, andemerged from with calm consciences and an undisturbed belief in theabysmal distinction between the women one loved and respected and thoseone enjoyed--and pitied. In this view they were sedulously abetted bytheir mothers, aunts and other elderly female relatives, who all sharedMrs. Archer's belief that when "such things happened" it was undoubtedlyfoolish of the man, but somehow always criminal of the woman. All theelderly ladies whom Archer knew regarded any woman who loved imprudentlyas necessarily unscrupulous and designing, and mere simple- minded manas powerless in her clutches. The only thing to do was to persuade him,as early as possible, to marry a nice girl, and then trust to her tolook after him. In the complicated old European communities, Archer began to guess,love-problems might be less simple and less easily classified. Rich andidle and ornamental societies must produce many more such situations;and there might even be one in which a woman naturally sensitive andaloof would yet, from the force of circumstances, from sheerdefencelessness and loneliness, be drawn into a tie inexcusable byconventional standards. On reaching home he wrote a line to the Countess Olenska, asking atwhat hour of the next day she could receive him, and despatched it by amessenger-boy, who returned presently with a word to the effect that shewas going to Skuytercliff the next morning to stay over Sunday with thevan der Luydens, but that he would find her alone that evening afterdinner. The note was written on a rather untidy half-sheet, without dateor address, but her hand was firm and free. He was amused at the ideaof her week-ending in the stately solitude of Skuytercliff, butimmediately afterward felt that there, of all places, she would mostfeel the chill of minds rigorously averted from the "unpleasant." He was at Mr. Letterblair's punctually at seven, glad of the pretextfor excusing himself soon after dinner. He had formed his own opinionfrom the papers entrusted to him, and did not especially want to go intothe matter with his senior partner. Mr. Letterblair was a widower, andthey dined alone, copiously and slowly, in a dark shabby room hung withyellowing prints of "The Death of Chatham" and "The Coronation ofNapoleon." On the sideboard, between fluted Sheraton knife-cases, stood adecanter of Haut Brion, and another of the old Lanning port (the giftof a client), which the wastrel Tom Lanning had sold off a year or twobefore his mysterious and discreditable death in San Francisco--anincident less publicly humiliating to the family than the sale of thecellar. After a velvety oyster soup came shad and cucumbers, then a youngbroiled turkey with corn fritters, followed by a canvas-back withcurrant jelly and a celery mayonnaise. Mr. Letterblair, who lunched on asandwich and tea, dined deliberately and deeply, and insisted on hisguest's doing the same. Finally, when the closing rites had beenaccomplished, the cloth was removed, cigars were lit, and Mr.Letterblair, leaning back in his chair and pushing the port westward,said, spreading his back agreeably to the coal fire behind him: "Thewhole family are against a divorce. And I think rightly." Archer instantly felt himself on the other side of the argument. "But why, sir? If there ever was a case--" "Well--what's the use? SHE'S here--he's there; the Atlantic's betweenthem. She'll never get back a dollar more of her money than what he'svoluntarily returned to her: their damned heathen marriage settlementstake precious good care of that. As things go over there, Olenski'sacted generously: he might have turned her out without a penny." The young man knew this and was silent. "I understand, though," Mr. Letterblair continued, "that she attachesno importance to the money. Therefore, as the family say, why not letwell enough alone?" Archer had gone to the house an hour earlier in full agreement withMr. Letterblair's view; but put into words by this selfish, well-fed andsupremely indifferent old man it suddenly became the Pharisaic voice ofa society wholly absorbed in barricading itself against the unpleasant. "I think that's for her to decide." "H'm--have you considered the consequences if she decides for divorce?" "You mean the threat in her husband's letter? What weight would thatcarry? It's no more than the vague charge of an angry blackguard." "Yes; but it might make some unpleasant talk if he really defends the suit." "Unpleasant--!" said Archer explosively. Mr. Letterblair looked at him from under enquiring eyebrows, and theyoung man, aware of the uselessness of trying to explain what was in hismind, bowed acquiescently while his senior continued: "Divorce isalways unpleasant." "You agree with me?" Mr. Letterblair resumed, after a waiting silence. "Naturally," said Archer. "Well, then, I may count on you; the Mingotts may count on you; to use your influence against the idea?" Archer hesitated. "I can't pledge myself till I've seen the Countess Olenska," he said at length. "Mr. Archer, I don't understand you. Do you want to marry into a family with a scandalous divorce-suit hanging over it?" "I don't think that has anything to do with the case." Mr. Letterblair put down his glass of port and fixed on his young partner a cautious and apprehensive gaze. Archer understood that he ran the risk of having his mandatewithdrawn, and for some obscure reason he disliked the prospect. Nowthat the job had been thrust on him he did not propose to relinquish it;and, to guard against the possibility, he saw that he must reassure theunimaginative old man who was the legal conscience of the Mingotts. "You may be sure, sir, that I shan't commit myself till I've reportedto you; what I meant was that I'd rather not give an opinion till I'veheard what Madame Olenska has to say." Mr. Letterblair nodded approvingly at an excess of caution worthy ofthe best New York tradition, and the young man, glancing at his watch,pleaded an engagement and took leave.

大约两个星期之后，在莱特布赖一拉姆森一洛律师事务所中，纽兰·阿切尔正坐在自己的隔间里闲得发呆，这时，事务所的上司要召见他。 老莱特布赖先生，这位受纽约上层阶级三代人信托的法律顾问，端坐在他的红木写字台后面，显然遇到了麻烦。他用手捋了捋浓密的白胡须，理理突起的眉头上方那凌乱的灰发，他那位不敬的年轻合伙人心想，他多像一位因为无法判断病人症状而苦恼的家庭医生啊。 “亲爱的先生，”他一贯称阿切尔为“先生”——“我请你来研究一件小事，一件我暂时不想让斯基普沃思和雷德伍德知道的事。”他所说的这两位绅士是事务所另外两名资深合伙人。正如纽约别的历史悠久的法律事务所的情况那样，这家事务所信笺头上列有姓名的那几个原来的合伙人都早已作古，像这位莱特布赖先生，就其职业称谓而言，他实际上成了自己的祖父。 他在椅子里朝后一仰，皱起眉头，然后说：“由于家庭的原因——” 阿切尔抬起头来。 “明戈特家，”莱特布赖微笑着点了点头解释说。“曼森·明戈特太太昨天派人请我去。她的孙女奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人想向法庭起诉，要求与丈夫离婚，有些文件已交到我手上。”他停了一会儿，敲敲桌子。“考虑到你将要与这个家庭联姻，我愿在采取进一步行动之前，先找你咨询一下——与你商量商量这件案子。” 阿切尔觉得热血涌上了太阳穴。拜访过奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人之后，他只见过她一次，那是在看歌剧的时候，在明戈特的包厢里。这段时间，由于梅·韦兰在他心目中恢复了应有的地位，奥兰斯卡夫人的形象正在消退，已经不那么清晰、那么索绕心头了。第一次听詹尼随便说起她要离婚时，他把它当作了毫无根据的流言，并没在意。此后，他再也没有听人说过这事。从理论上讲，他对离婚几乎跟母亲一样抱有反感；令他恼火的是，莱特布赖先生（无疑受了老凯瑟琳·明戈特的怂恿）显然打算把他拉进这件事情中来。明戈特家能干这种事的男人多着哩，何况他目前还没有通过婚姻变成明戈特家的一分子。 他等待老合伙人说下去。莱特布赖先生打开一个抽屉，抽出了一包东西。 “如果你浏览一下这些文件——” 阿切尔皱起了眉头。“请原谅，先生；可正因为未来的亲戚关系，我更希望你与斯吉普沃思先生或雷德伍德先生商讨这件事。” 莱特布赖先生似乎颇感意外，而且有点生气。一位下级拒绝这样的开场白是很少见的。 他点了点头，说：“我尊重你的顾虑，先生，不过对这件事，我以为真正的审慎还是要按我说的去做。说老实话，这并不是我的提议，而是曼森·明戈特和她的儿子们的提议。我已经见过了洛弗尔·明戈特，还有韦兰先生，他们全都指名要你办。” 阿切尔感到怒火在上升。最近两个星期，他一直有点不由自主地随波逐流，以梅的漂亮容貌和光彩个性去对付明戈特家那些纠缠不休的要求。然而老明戈特太太的这道谕旨却使他清醒地看到，这个家族认为他们有权强迫未来的女婿去干些什么，他被这种角色激怒了。 “她的叔叔们应该处理这件事，”他说。 “他们处理了。全家人进行了研究，他们反对伯爵夫人的意见，但她很坚决，坚持要求得到法律的判决。” 年轻人不作声了：他还没有打开手上的纸包。 “她是不是想再嫁人？” “我认为有这个意思；但她否认这一点。” “那么——” “阿切尔先生，劳驾你先看一遍这些文件好吗？以后，等我们把情况交谈之后，我会告诉你我的意见。” 阿切尔无可奈何地带着那些不受欢迎的文件退了出来。他们上次见面以来，他一直漫不经心地对待社交活动，以便使自己摆脱奥兰斯卡夫人的负担。他与她在炉火旁单独相处建立的短暂亲密关系，由于圣奥斯特利公爵与莱姆尔·斯特拉瑟斯太太的闯入，以及伯爵夫人对他们愉快的欢迎，已经天助神依般地破灭了。两天之后，在她重获范德卢顿夫妇欢心的喜剧中阿切尔助了一臂之力，他不无尖酸地心想，对于有权势的老绅士用一束鲜花表示的善意，一位夫人是知道如何感激的，她不需要他这样能力有限的年轻人私下的安慰，也不需要他公开的捍卫。这样一想，就把他个人的问题简化了，同时也令人惊奇地修复了他模糊的家庭观念。无论梅遇到什么紧急情况，他都无法想象她会对陌生男人大讲自己的困难，不加考虑地信赖他们。在随后的一个星期中，他觉得她比以往任何时候都更优雅更美丽。他甚至屈从了她延长订婚期的愿望，因为她找到了解除争端的办法，使他放弃了尽快结婚的要求。 “你知道，从你还是个小姑娘的时候起，只要你说到点子上，你父母一直都是容许你自行其事的，”他争辩说。她神色十分安详地回答道：“不错；正是由于这个原因，才使得我难以拒绝他们把我看作小姑娘而提的最后一个要求。” 这是老纽约的调子；这是他愿永远确信他的妻子会做的那种回答。假如一个人一直习惯于呼吸纽约的空气，那么，有时候，不够清澈的东西似乎就会让他窒息。 他回来后阅读的那些文件实际上并没有告诉他多少情况，却使他陷入一种窒息和气急败坏的心清。文件主要是奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人的律师与法国一个法律机构的往来信件，伯爵夫人曾请求该机构澄清她的经济状况；另外还有一封伯爵写给妻子的短信。读过那封信后，纽兰·阿切尔站起来，把文件塞进信封，重新走进了莱特布赖的办公室。 “还给你这些信，先生。如果你愿意，我想见见奥兰斯卡夫人，”他声音有些不自然地说。 “谢谢你——谢谢你，阿切尔先生。如果你有空，今晚请过来一起吃晚饭，饭后我们把事情研究一下——假如你想明天拜访我们的委托人的话。” 纽兰·阿切尔这天下午又是直接走回家的。这是个明净清澈的冬季傍晚，一弯皎洁的新月刚升起在房顶上方。他想让灵魂内部注满纯净的光辉，在晚饭后与莱特布赖关进密室之前这段时间，不想跟任何人说一句话。再做其他决定是不可能的，一定得按他的意见办：他必须亲自去见奥兰斯卡夫人，而不能让她的秘密暴露给其他人。一股同情的洪流已经冲走了他的冷漠与厌烦。她像一个无人保护的弱者站在他面前，等待着他不惜一切代价去拯救，以免她在对抗命运的疯狂冒险中受到进一步的伤害。 他记起她对他讲过，韦兰太太曾要求她免谈她过去任何“不愉快的事”。想到也许正是这种心态才使得纽约的空气如此纯净，他不觉有些畏缩。“难道我们竟是法利赛人不成？”他困惑地想。为了摆平憎恶人类罪恶与同情人类脆弱这两种本能的感情，他大伤脑筋。 他第一次认识到他恪守的那些原则是多么初级。他被认为是个不怕冒险的年轻人，他知道他与傻乎乎的托雷·拉什沃斯太太的桃色秘密还不够秘密，无法给他蒙上一层名副其实的冒险色彩。然而拉什沃斯太太属于“那种女人”：愚蠢、虚荣、生性喜欢偷偷摸摸，事情的秘密性与冒险性对她的吸引力远大于他的魅力与品质。当他明白真相之后，难受得差点儿心碎，不过现在看来却起到了补偿作用。总之，那段恩怨属于跟他同龄的多数年轻人都经历过的那一种，它的发生于良心是平静的，且丝毫不会动摇这样一种信念：一个人尊重、爱恋的女人与他欣赏——并怜悯的女人是有天渊之别的。按照这种观点，年轻人都受到他们的母亲、姑姨及其他女长辈百般的怂恿和支持，她们都与阿切尔太太持同样的看法：“发生这种事”，对于男人无疑是愚蠢的，而对于女人——不知何故——却是罪恶的。阿切尔太太认识的所有上年纪的夫人们都认为，任何轻率与人相爱的女人都必然是寡廉鲜耻、工于心计的，而心地单纯的男人在其控制下则是无能为力的。惟一的办法是尽早说服他娶一位好姑娘，然后委托她去照管他。 阿切尔开始想，在复杂的老式欧洲社会里，爱情问题恐怕不这么简单，不这么容易分门归类。富足、悠闲、喜欢招摇的上流社会必然会发生许许多多这样的私情，甚至会有这种可能：一位生性敏感的孤单女子，由于环境势力所逼、由于全然孤立无助，会被牵涉进为传统规范不能饶恕的感情纠纷之中。 一回到家，他便给奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人写了几句话，问她第二天什么时间可以接见他。他打发信差送去，不久，便带话回来，说她翌晨要与范德卢顿夫妇去斯库特克利夫过星期天，不过晚饭以后她将一个人呆在家里。回函写在很不整洁的半页纸上，没有日期和地址，但她的书写流畅而道劲。他对她到豪华幽闭的斯库特克利夫度周末的主意感到高兴，但稍后他立即意识到，惟其在那个地方，她才会最深切地感受到坚决规避“不愉快”的那种思想的冷漠。 7点钟，他准时到达莱特布赖先生的家，心中为饭后立即脱身的借口暗自高兴。他已从交给他的那些文件中形成了自己的意见，并不太想跟他的上司深入探讨。莱特布赖先生是个鳏夫，只有他们两人用餐。菜肴十分丰盛，而上菜却慢慢腾腾。阴暗寒怆的餐厅里挂着两张发黄的版画《查塔姆之死》与《拿破仑的加冕礼》。餐具柜上面，带凹槽的餐刀匣子中间，摆着一瓶豪特·布里翁的圆酒瓶，还有一瓶陈年拉宁红葡萄酒（一位委托人的礼品），那是汤姆·拉宁那个饭桶神秘可耻地死于旧金山前一两年打折倾销的——他的死亡还不及地下酒窖的拍卖给家庭带来的耻辱大。 一道可口的牡蛎汤之后，上了河鲱和黄瓜，然后是一客童子鸡与油炸玉米馅饼，接着又有灰背野鸭和醋栗酱和蛋黄汁芹菜。午饭吃三明治、喝茶的莱特布赖先生，晚餐却吃得从容不迫、专心致志，并坚持让他的客人也照此办理。终于，收场的礼节完成之后，撤掉桌布，点着雪茄，莱特布赖先生把酒瓶向西面一推，身体在椅子里朝后一靠，无拘无束地向身后的煤火舒展开后背，然后说道：“全家人都反对离婚，我认为这很正确。” 阿切尔即刻觉得自己站在了争论的另一方。“可这是因为什么呢，先生？假如有个案子——” “唉，案子有什么用？她在这里——他在那里，大西洋隔在他们中间。除了他自愿给她的，多一美元她也绝对要不回来，他们那该死的异教婚姻财产处理法规定得明明白白。按那边的情形，奥兰斯基做得已经很慷慨了：他本来可以一个铜板都不给就把她撵走的。” 年轻人明白这一点，缄口无言了。 “可是我知道，”莱特布赖接下去说，“她对钱的问题并不重视。所以，就像她的家人所说的，干吗不听其自然呢？” 阿切尔一小时之前到他家来的时候，与莱特布赖先生的意见完全一致，但这些话一从这个酒足饭饱、冷漠自私的老人口中讲出来，却突然变成全神贯注地防范不愉快事情出现的上流社会伪善者的腔调。 “我想这事该由她自己决定。” “唔——假如她决定离婚，你考虑过事情的后果吗？” “你是说她丈夫信中的威胁？那有什么了不起？不过是一个发怒的恶棍含含糊糊的指控罢了。” “不错；可假如他真要进行抗辩，却有可能造成不愉快的口实。” “不愉快的——！”阿切尔暴躁地说。 莱特布赖先生诧异地挑起眉毛看着他，年轻人意识到向他说明自己的想法等于徒劳。他的上司接着说：“离婚永远是不愉快的。”他默认地点了点头。 莱特布赖先生沉默地等了一会儿又问道：“你同意我的意见吗？” “那当然，”阿切尔说。 “这么说，我可以依靠你，明戈特家可以依靠你，运用你的影响反对这个主意了。” 阿切尔犹豫了。“会见奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人之前，我还不能打保票，”他终于说。 “阿切尔先生，我不理解你。难道你想和一个即将有离婚诉讼丑闻的家庭结亲吗？” “我认为那与这件事毫无关系。” 莱特布赖先生放下酒杯，盯着他的年轻合伙人，审慎、忧虑地瞅了一眼。 阿切尔明白他在冒被收回成命的风险。由于某种说不清的原因，他并不喜欢那种前景。既然任务已经交给了他，他就不打算放弃它了，而且，为了防止那种可能，他明白必须让这位代表明戈特一家法律信仰的缺乏想像力的老人放下心来。 “你可以放心，先生，不先向你汇报我是不会表态的；我刚才的意思是，我在听取奥兰斯卡夫人的想法之前，不愿发表意见。” 莱特布赖先生对这种称得上纽约优秀传统的过分谨慎赞许地点了点头。年轻人瞥了一眼手表，便借口有约，告辞而去。

Chapter 12

Old-fashioned New York dined at seven, and the habit of after-dinnercalls, though derided in Archer's set, still generally prevailed. As theyoung man strolled up Fifth Avenue from Waverley Place, the longthoroughfare was deserted but for a group of carriages standing beforethe Reggie Chiverses' (where there was a dinner for the Duke), and theoccasional figure of an elderly gentleman in heavy overcoat and mufflerascending a brownstone doorstep and disappearing into a gas-lit hall.Thus, as Archer crossed Washington Square, he remarked that old Mr. duLac was calling on his cousins the Dagonets, and turning down the cornerof West Tenth Street he saw Mr. Skipworth, of his own firm, obviouslybound on a visit to the Miss Lannings. A little farther up Fifth Avenue,Beaufort appeared on his doorstep, darkly projected against a blaze oflight, descended to his private brougham, and rolled away to amysterious and probably unmentionable destination. It was not an Operanight, and no one was giving a party, so that Beaufort's outing wasundoubtedly of a clandestine nature. Archer connected it in his mindwith a little house beyond Lexington Avenue in which beribboned windowcurtains and flower-boxes had recently appeared, and before whose newlypainted door the canary-coloured brougham of Miss Fanny Ring wasfrequently seen to wait. Beyond the small and slippery pyramid which composed Mrs. Archer'sworld lay the almost unmapped quarter inhabited by artists, musiciansand "people who wrote." These scattered fragments of humanity had nevershown any desire to be amalgamated with the social structure. In spiteof odd ways they were said to be, for the most part, quite respectable;but they preferred to keep to themselves. Medora Manson, in herprosperous days, had inaugurated a "literary salon"; but it had soondied out owing to the reluctance of the literary to frequent it. Others had made the same attempt, and there was a household ofBlenkers--an intense and voluble mother, and three blowsy daughters whoimitated her--where one met Edwin Booth and Patti and William Winter,and the new Shakespearian actor George Rignold, and some of the magazineeditors and musical and literary critics. Mrs. Archer and her group felt a certain timidity concerning thesepersons. They were odd, they were uncertain, they had things one didn'tknow about in the background of their lives and minds. Literature andart were deeply respected in the Archer set, and Mrs. Archer was alwaysat pains to tell her children how much more agreeable and cultivatedsociety had been when it included such figures as Washington Irving,Fitz-Greene Halleck and the poet of "The Culprit Fay." The mostcelebrated authors of that generation had been "gentlemen"; perhaps theunknown persons who succeeded them had gentlemanly sentiments, but theirorigin, their appearance, their hair, their intimacy with the stage andthe Opera, made any old New York criterion inapplicable to them. "When I was a girl," Mrs. Archer used to say, "we knew everybodybetween the Battery and Canal Street; and only the people one knew hadcarriages. It was perfectly easy to place any one then; now one can'ttell, and I prefer not to try." Only old Catherine Mingott, with her absence of moral prejudices andalmost parvenu indifference to the subtler distinctions, might havebridged the abyss; but she had never opened a book or looked at apicture, and cared for music only because it reminded her of gala nightsat the Italiens, in the days of her triumph at the Tuileries. PossiblyBeaufort, who was her match in daring, would have succeeded in bringingabout a fusion; but his grand house and silk-stockinged footmen were anobstacle to informal sociability. Moreover, he was as illiterate as oldMrs. Mingott, and considered "fellows who wrote" as the mere paidpurveyors of rich men's pleasures; and no one rich enough to influencehis opinion had ever questioned it. Newland Archer had been aware of these things ever since he couldremember, and had accepted them as part of the structure of hisuniverse. He knew that there were societies where painters and poets andnovelists and men of science, and even great actors, were as soughtafter as Dukes; he had often pictured to himself what it would have beento live in the intimacy of drawing-rooms dominated by the talk ofMerimee (whose "Lettres a une Inconnue" was one of his inseparables), ofThackeray, Browning or William Morris. But such things wereinconceivable in New York, and unsettling to think of. Archer knew mostof the "fellows who wrote," the musicians and the painters: he met themat the Century, or at the little musical and theatrical clubs that werebeginning to come into existence. He enjoyed them there, and was boredwith them at the Blenkers', where they were mingled with fervid anddowdy women who passed them about like captured curiosities; and evenafter his most exciting talks with Ned Winsett he always came away withthe feeling that if his world was small, so was theirs, and that theonly way to enlarge either was to reach a stage of manners where theywould naturally merge. He was reminded of this by trying to picture the society in which theCountess Olenska had lived and suffered, and also--perhaps--tastedmysterious joys. He remembered with what amusement she had told him thather grandmother Mingott and the Wellands objected to her living in a"Bohemian" quarter given over to "people who wrote." It was not theperil but the poverty that her family disliked; but that shade escapedher, and she supposed they considered literature compromising. She herself had no fears of it, and the books scattered about herdrawing-room (a part of the house in which books were usually supposedto be "out of place"), though chiefly works of fiction, had whettedArcher's interest with such new names as those of Paul Bourget,Huysmans, and the Goncourt brothers. Ruminating on these things as heapproached her door, he was once more conscious of the curious way inwhich she reversed his values, and of the need of thinking himself intoconditions incredibly different from any that he knew if he were to beof use in her present difficulty. Nastasia opened the door, smiling mysteriously. On the bench in thehall lay a sable-lined overcoat, a folded opera hat of dull silk with agold J. B. on the lining, and a white silk muffler: there was nomistaking the fact that these costly articles were the property ofJulius Beaufort. Archer was angry: so angry that he came near scribbling a word on hiscard and going away; then he remembered that in writing to MadameOlenska he had been kept by excess of discretion from saying that hewished to see her privately. He had therefore no one but himself toblame if she had opened her doors to other visitors; and he entered thedrawing-room with the dogged determination to make Beaufort feel himselfin the way, and to outstay him. The banker stood leaning against the mantelshelf, which was drapedwith an old embroidery held in place by brass candelabra containingchurch candies of yellowish wax. He had thrust his chest out, supportinghis shoulders against the mantel and resting his weight on one largepatent-leather foot. As Archer entered he was smiling and looking downon his hostess, who sat on a sofa placed at right angles to the chimney.A table banked with flowers formed a screen behind it, and against theorchids and azaleas which the young man recognised as tributes from theBeaufort hot-houses, Madame Olenska sat half-reclined, her head proppedon a hand and her wide sleeve leaving the arm bare to the elbow. It was usual for ladies who received in the evenings to wear whatwere called "simple dinner dresses": a close-fitting armour ofwhale-boned silk, slightly open in the neck, with lace ruffles fillingin the crack, and tight sleeves with a flounce uncovering just enoughwrist to show an Etruscan gold bracelet or a velvet band. But MadameOlenska, heedless of tradition, was attired in a long robe of red velvetbordered about the chin and down the front with glossy black fur.Archer remembered, on his last visit to Paris, seeing a portrait by thenew painter, Carolus Duran, whose pictures were the sensation of theSalon, in which the lady wore one of these bold sheath-like robes withher chin nestling in fur. There was something perverse and provocativein the notion of fur worn in the evening in a heated drawing-room, andin the combination of a muffled throat and bare arms; but the effect wasundeniably pleasing. "Lord love us--three whole days at Skuytercliff!" Beaufort was sayingin his loud sneering voice as Archer entered. "You'd better take allyour furs, and a hot-water-bottle." "Why? Is the house so cold?" she asked, holding out her left hand toArcher in a way mysteriously suggesting that she expected him to kissit. "No; but the missus is," said Beaufort, nodding carelessly to the young man. "But I thought her so kind. She came herself to invite me. Granny says I must certainly go." "Granny would, of course. And I say it's a shame you're going to missthe little oyster supper I'd planned for you at Delmonico's nextSunday, with Campanini and Scalchi and a lot of jolly people." She looked doubtfully from the banker to Archer. "Ah--that does tempt me! Except the other evening at Mrs. Struthers's I've not met a single artist since I've been here." "What kind of artists? I know one or two painters, very good fellows,that I could bring to see you if you'd allow me," said Archer boldly. "Painters? Are there painters in New York?" asked Beaufort, in a toneimplying that there could be none since he did not buy their pictures;and Madame Olenska said to Archer, with her grave smile: "That would becharming. But I was really thinking of dramatic artists, singers,actors, musicians. My husband's house was always full of them." She said the words "my husband" as if no sinister associations wereconnected with them, and in a tone that seemed almost to sigh over thelost delights of her married life. Archer looked at her perplexedly,wondering if it were lightness or dissimulation that enabled her totouch so easily on the past at the very moment when she was risking herreputation in order to break with it. "I do think," she went on, addressing both men, that the imprevu addsto one's enjoyment. It's perhaps a mistake to see the same people everyday." "It's confoundedly dull, anyhow; New York is dying of dullness,"Beaufort grumbled. "And when I try to liven it up for you, you go backon me. Come--think better of it! Sunday is your last chance, forCampanini leaves next week for Baltimore and Philadelphia; and I've aprivate room, and a Steinway, and they'll sing all night for me." "How delicious! May I think it over, and write to you tomorrow morning?" She spoke amiably, yet with the least hint of dismissal in her voice.Beaufort evidently felt it, and being unused to dismissals, stoodstaring at her with an obstinate line between his eyes. "Why not now?" "It's too serious a question to decide at this late hour." "Do you call it late?" She returned his glance coolly. "Yes; because I have still to talk business with Mr. Archer for a little while." "Ah," Beaufort snapped. There was no appeal from her tone, and with aslight shrug he recovered his composure, took her hand, which he kissedwith a practised air, and calling out from the threshold: "I say,Newland, if you can persuade the Countess to stop in town of courseyou're included in the supper," left the room with his heavy importantstep. For a moment Archer fancied that Mr. Letterblair must have told herof his coming; but the irrelevance of her next remark made him changehis mind. "You know painters, then? You live in their milieu?" she asked, her eyes full of interest. "Oh, not exactly. I don't know that the arts have a milieu here, any of them; they're more like a very thinly settled outskirt." "But you care for such things?" "Immensely. When I'm in Paris or London I never miss an exhibition. I try to keep up." She looked down at the tip of the little satin boot that peeped from her long draperies. "I used to care immensely too: my life was full of such things. But now I want to try not to." "You want to try not to?" "Yes: I want to cast off all my old life, to become just like everybody else here." Archer reddened. "You'll never be like everybody else," he said. She raised her straight eyebrows a little. "Ah, don't say that. If you knew how I hate to be different!" Her face had grown as sombre as a tragic mask. She leaned forward,clasping her knee in her thin hands, and looking away from him intoremote dark distances. "I want to get away from it all," she insisted. He waited a moment and cleared his throat. "I know. Mr. Letterblair has told me." "Ah?" "That's the reason I've come. He asked me to--you see I'm in the firm." She looked slightly surprised, and then her eyes brightened. "Youmean you can manage it for me? I can talk to you instead of Mr.Letterblair? Oh, that will be so much easier!" Her tone touched him, and his confidence grew with hisself-satisfaction. He perceived that she had spoken of business toBeaufort simply to get rid of him; and to have routed Beaufort wassomething of a triumph. "I am here to talk about it," he repeated. She sat silent, her head still propped by the arm that rested on theback of the sofa. Her face looked pale and extinguished, as if dimmed bythe rich red of her dress. She struck Archer, of a sudden, as apathetic and even pitiful figure. "Now we're coming to hard facts," he thought, conscious in himself ofthe same instinctive recoil that he had so often criticised in hismother and her contemporaries. How little practice he had had in dealingwith unusual situations! Their very vocabulary was unfamiliar to him,and seemed to belong to fiction and the stage. In face of what wascoming he felt as awkward and embarrassed as a boy. After a pause Madame Olenska broke out with unexpected vehemence: "I want to be free; I want to wipe out all the past." "I understand that." Her face warmed. "Then you'll help me?" "First--" he hesitated--"perhaps I ought to know a little more." She seemed surprised. "You know about my husband-- my life with him?" He made a sign of assent. "Well--then--what more is there? In this country are such thingstolerated? I'm a Protestant--our church does not forbid divorce in suchcases." "Certainly not." They were both silent again, and Archer felt the spectre of CountOlenski's letter grimacing hideously between them. The letter filledonly half a page, and was just what he had described it to be inspeaking of it to Mr. Letterblair: the vague charge of an angryblackguard. But how much truth was behind it? Only Count Olenski's wifecould tell. "I've looked through the papers you gave to Mr. Letterblair," he said at length. "Well--can there be anything more abominable?" "No." She changed her position slightly, screening her eyes with her lifted hand. "Of course you know," Archer continued, "that if your husband chooses to fight the case--as he threatens to--" "Yes--?" "He can say things--things that might be unpl--might be disagreeableto you: say them publicly, so that they would get about, and harm youeven if--" "If--?" "I mean: no matter how unfounded they were." She paused for a long interval; so long that, not wishing to keep hiseyes on her shaded face, he had time to imprint on his mind the exactshape of her other hand, the one on her knee, and every detail of thethree rings on her fourth and fifth fingers; among which, he noticed, awedding ring did not appear. "What harm could such accusations, even if he made them publicly, do me here?" It was on his lips to exclaim: "My poor child--far more harm thananywhere else!" Instead, he answered, in a voice that sounded in hisears like Mr. Letterblair's: "New York society is a very small worldcompared with the one you've lived in. And it's ruled, in spite ofappearances, by a few people with--well, rather old- fashioned ideas." She said nothing, and he continued: "Our ideas about marriage anddivorce are particularly old-fashioned. Our legislation favoursdivorce--our social customs don't." "Never?" "Well--not if the woman, however injured, however irreproachable, hasappearances in the least degree against her, has exposed herself by anyunconventional action to--to offensive insinuations--" She drooped her head a little lower, and he waited again, intenselyhoping for a flash of indignation, or at least a brief cry of denial.None came. A little travelling clock ticked purringly at her elbow, and a logbroke in two and sent up a shower of sparks. The whole hushed andbrooding room seemed to be waiting silently with Archer. "Yes," she murmured at length, "that's what my family tell me." He winced a little. "It's not unnatural--" "OUR family," she corrected herself; and Archer coloured. "For you'll be my cousin soon," she continued gently. "I hope so." "And you take their view?" He stood up at this, wandered across the room, stared with void eyesat one of the pictures against the old red damask, and came backirresolutely to her side. How could he say: "Yes, if what your husbandhints is true, or if you've no way of disproving it?" "Sincerely--" she interjected, as he was about to speak. He looked down into the fire. "Sincerely, then--what should you gainthat would compensate for the possibility-- the certainty--of a lot ofbeastly talk?" "But my freedom--is that nothing?" It flashed across him at that instant that the charge in the letterwas true, and that she hoped to marry the partner of her guilt. How washe to tell her that, if she really cherished such a plan, the laws ofthe State were inexorably opposed to it? The mere suspicion that thethought was in her mind made him feel harshly and impatiently towardher. "But aren't you as free as air as it is?" he returned. "Who cantouch you? Mr. Letterblair tells me the financial question has beensettled--" "Oh, yes," she said indifferently. "Well, then: is it worth while to risk what may be infinitelydisagreeable and painful? Think of the newspapers--their vileness! It'sall stupid and narrow and unjust--but one can't make over society." "No," she acquiesced; and her tone was so faint and desolate that he felt a sudden remorse for his own hard thoughts. "The individual, in such cases, is nearly always sacrificed to whatis supposed to be the collective interest: people cling to anyconvention that keeps the family together--protects the children, ifthere are any," he rambled on, pouring out all the stock phrases thatrose to his lips in his intense desire to cover over the ugly realitywhich her silence seemed to have laid bare. Since she would not or couldnot say the one word that would have cleared the air, his wish was notto let her feel that he was trying to probe into her secret. Better keepon the surface, in the prudent old New York way, than risk uncovering awound he could not heal. "It's my business, you know," he went on, "to help you to see thesethings as the people who are fondest of you see them. The Mingotts, theWellands, the van der Luydens, all your friends and relations: if Ididn't show you honestly how they judge such questions, it wouldn't befair of me, would it?" He spoke insistently, almost pleading with her inhis eagerness to cover up that yawning silence. She said slowly: "No; it wouldn't be fair." The fire had crumbled down to greyness, and one of the lamps made agurgling appeal for attention. Madame Olenska rose, wound it up andreturned to the fire, but without resuming her seat. Her remaining on her feet seemed to signify that there was nothing more for either of them to say, and Archer stood up also. "Very well; I will do what you wish," she said abruptly. The bloodrushed to his forehead; and, taken aback by the suddenness of hersurrender, he caught her two hands awkwardly in his. "I--I do want to help you," he said. "You do help me. Good night, my cousin." He bent and laid his lips on her hands, which were cold and lifeless.She drew them away, and he turned to the door, found his coat and hatunder the faint gas-light of the hall, and plunged out into the winternight bursting with the belated eloquence of the inarticulate.

老派的纽约上流社会一般在7点钟吃晚饭，饭后走访的习惯虽然在阿切尔这伙人中受到嘲笑，但仍然广泛流行。年轻人从韦弗利广场漫步沿第五大街上行，漫长的大街上空无一人，只有几辆马车停在里吉·奇弗斯家门前（他家在为公爵举行宴会）。偶尔有一个身穿厚外套、戴着手套的老绅士的身影登上一所棕石住宅的门阶，消失在煤气灯光明亮的门厅里。当阿切尔穿过华盛顿广场的时候，他见到老杜拉克先生正去拜访他的表亲达戈内特夫妇；在西10街转弯处，看见了他事务所的斯基沃思先生，此人显然正要去拜访拉宁小姐。沿第五大街再上行一段，他又看见博福特出现在自家的门阶上，在明亮的灯光下，黑色的身影十分突出。博福特走下台阶进了他的私人马车，朝一个秘密的、很可能是不宜说出的目的地驶去。今晚没有歌剧演出，也没有人举办宴会，所以博福特的外出无疑带有偷偷摸摸的性质。阿切尔在心中把它与列克星顿大街远处的一所小住宅联系起来，那所房子里前不久才出现了饰有缎带的窗帘和花箱，在它新油漆过的门前，经常可以见到范妮·琳的淡黄色马车等在那儿。 在构成阿切尔太太的圈子的又尖又滑的小金字塔外面，有一个地图上很可能没有标记的区域，里面住着画家、音乐家和“搞写作的人”。人类的这一部分散兵游勇从来没有表示过与上流社会结构融为一体的愿望。尽管人们说他们生活方式奇特，但他们大多数人都还品行端正，只不过不喜欢与人往来。梅多拉·曼森在她兴旺时期曾创办过一个“文学沙龙”，但不久便因为文人们不肯光顾而销声匿迹。 其他人也做过相同的尝试，其中有个姓布兰克的家庭——一位热情健谈的母亲和三个紧步其后尘的邋遢女儿。在她们家可以见到埃德温·布思、帕蒂和威廉·温特，还有演莎士比亚戏剧的新演员乔治·里格诺尔德，几个刊物编辑，以及音乐与文学评论家。 阿切尔太太与她那个小圈子对这些文化人感到有点畏惧：他们为人古怪，捉摸不透，而且在他们生活与思想的背景中有些不为人知的东西。姓阿切尔的这个阶层对文学与艺术非常看重，阿切尔太太总是不遗余力地告诉孩子们；过去，社交界包括了华盛顿·欧文、费兹一格林·哈勒克及写了《犯罪的小仙女》的诗人这样的人物，那时候是多么有礼貌、有教养。那一代最有名的作家都是“绅士”，而那些继承他们事业的无名之辈或许也有绅士的情感，但他们的出身，他们的仪表和头发，以及他们与舞台及歌剧的密切关系，使得老纽约的准则对他们统统不适用了。 “在我做姑娘的时候，”阿切尔太太经常说，“我们认识巴特利与运河街一带的每一个人，而且只有我们认识的人才有马车。那时判断一个人的身份易如反掌，现在可没法说了，我宁愿试都不试。” 惟独老凯瑟琳·明戈特有可能跨过了这道深渊，因为她没有道德偏见，且对那些敏感的差别持有与新贵们几乎相同的冷漠态度。然而她从未翻过一本书、看过一幅画，而且，她喜欢音乐也只是因为它使她回想起她在意大利时的那些狂欢之夜，她在杜伊勒里宫那段辉煌的日子。与她同样勇敢的博福特本来可能促成融合，但他那豪华住宅与穿丝袜的男仆成了非正式交际的障碍。而且他跟明戈特太太一样目不识丁，他认为“搞写作的人”不过是些拿了钱为富人提供享乐的家伙。而能够对他施加影响的那些富人，没有一个曾怀疑过这种观点。 纽兰·阿切尔从记事的时候起就知道这些事情，并把它们看作他那个世界的组成部分。他知道在有些上流社会里，画家。诗人、小说家、科学家、甚至大演员都像公侯一样受到追捧。过去他时常想象，置身于以谈论梅里美（他的《致无名氏的信》使他爱不释手）、萨克雷、布朗宁和威廉·莫里斯等大作家为主要话题的客厅里，会有怎样一种感觉，然而那种事在纽约是不可能的，想起来真令人不安。阿切尔认识很多“搞写作的人”、音乐家和画家。他在“世纪”或另一些刚成立的小型的音乐或戏剧俱乐部里与他们见面。在那儿，他欣赏他们，而在布兰克家中他却厌烦他们，因为他们和一些热情高涨、俗里俗气的女人混在一起，她们像捕获的怪物似的在他们身边走来走去。甚至在他与内德·温赛特最兴奋的交谈之后，他总是觉得，如果说他的天地很小，那么他们的也不大，而要拓展任何一方的空间，惟一的途径是使他们在生活方式上自然而然地融为一体。 他之所以想到这些事，是因为他想对奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人曾经生活过、忍受过——或许还品尝过其神秘的快乐的上流社会进行一番设想。他记得她曾怀着怎样的乐趣告诉他，她祖母明戈特和韦兰夫妇反对她住在专供“搞写作的人”居住的放荡不羁的文化人的街区。令她的家人反感的不是冒险，而是贫穷，但那种阴影她却早已忘记了，她以为他们是认为文学名声不好。 她本人对文学倒没有什么顾虑，她的客厅里（一般认为最不宜放书的地方）四处散乱的书籍虽然主要是小说作品，但像保罗·布尔热、休斯曼及龚古尔兄弟这些新名字都曾引起阿切尔的兴趣。他一边思考着这些事情一边走到了她的门前，又一次意识到她反转他的价值观的奇妙方式，意识到如果他要在她目前的困境中发挥作用，必须设想自己进入与过去有着惊人差别的境界。 纳斯塔西娅开了门，脸上露出神秘的笑容。门厅的凳子上放着一件貂皮村里的外套，上面摆着一顶折叠的深色丝制歌剧礼帽，衬里有“J.B.”两个金字，还有一条丝巾。这几件贵重物品一准是朱利叶斯·博福特的财产。 阿切尔愤怒了：他非常气愤，差一点要在名片上划几个字一走了之。但他随即想起在给奥兰斯卡写便函的时候，由于过于审慎而没有讲希望私下见她的话，因此，如果她已经向别的客人敞开了大门，这只能怪他自己。于是他昂首走进客厅，决心要让博福特感到他在这儿碍手碍脚，从而把他挤走。 银行家正倚着壁炉架立着，炉架上挂着一块旧的刺绣帷慢，由几个枝形铜烛台压住，烛台里盛着发黄的教堂用的蜡烛。他挺着胸脯，两肩靠在炉架上，身体的重量支撑在一只穿漆皮鞋的大脚上。阿切尔进屋时他正面带笑容低头看着女主人，她坐在一张与烟囱摆成直角的沙发上。一张堆着鲜花的桌子在沙发后面形成一道屏障，年轻人认得出那些兰花与杜鹃是来自博福特家温室的赠品。奥兰斯卡夫人面朝鲜花半倚半坐，一只手托着头，她那宽松的袖筒一直把胳臂露到肘部。 女士们晚上会客通常都穿一种叫做“晚餐便装”的衣服：一件鲸须丝做的紧身内衣，领口很小，用花边的皱褶填在开口处，贴紧的袖子上带一个荷叶边，刚好露出手腕，以展示金手镯或丝带。而奥兰斯卡夫人却不顾习俗，穿了一件红丝绒的长睡袍，睡袍上端是光滑的黑毛皮镶边，环绕下巴一周并顺着前胸垂下来。阿切尔记起他最近一次访问巴黎时曾见过新画家卡罗勒斯·杜兰——他的轰动了巴黎美术展览会——的一幅画像，上面那位夫人就穿了一件这种像刀鞘一样的浓艳睡袍，下巴偎依在毛皮中。晚上在气氛热烈的客厅里穿戴毛皮，再加上围拢的脖颈和裸露的手臂，给人一种任性与挑逗的感觉。但不可否认，那效果却十分悦人。 “哎呀，太好了——到斯库特克利夫呆整整3天！”阿切尔进屋时博福特正以嘲笑的口吻大声说。“你最好带上所有的毛皮衣服，外加一个热水瓶。” “为什么？那房子很冷吗？”她问道，一面向阿切尔伸出左手，那诡秘的样子仿佛表示期待他去吻它。 “不是房子冷，而是女主人冷，”博福特说着，一面心不在焉地朝年轻人点点头。 “可我觉得她很好，是她亲自来邀请我的，奶奶说我当然一定得去。” “奶奶当然会那样说。我看，你要是错过下星期天我为你安排的德尔莫尼柯家小型牡蛎晚餐，那真是太可惜了，坎帕尼尼、斯卡尔奇，还有好多有趣的人都会去呢。” 她疑惑地看看银行家，又看看阿切尔。 “啊——我真想去！除了在斯特拉瑟斯太太家的那天晚上，我来这儿以后一位艺术家还没见过呢。” “你想见什么样的艺术家？我认识两个画家，人都很好，假如你同意，我可以带你去见他们。”阿切尔冒昧地说。 “画家？纽约有画家吗？”博福特问，那口气表示，既然他没有买他们的画，他们就不可能算是画家。奥兰斯卡夫人面带庄重的笑容对阿切尔说：“那太好了。不过我实际上指的是戏剧艺术家。歌唱家、演员、音乐家等。在我丈夫家里老是有很多那种人的。” 她讲“我丈夫”时，好像根本没有什么不祥的东西与这几个字相关，而且那口气几乎是在惋惜已失去的婚姻生活的快乐。阿切尔困惑地看着她，不知她是出于轻松还是故作镇静，才在为解除婚姻而拿自己的名誉冒险时如此轻易地提到了它。 “我就是认为，”她接下去对着两位男士说，“出乎意料的事才更加令人愉快。天天见同一些人也许是个错误。” “不管怎么说，是太沉闷了；纽约真是沉闷得要死，”博福特抱怨说。“而正当我设法为你活跃一下气氛时，你却让我失望。听我说——再好好想一想吧！星期天是你最后的机会了，因为坎帕尼尼下周就要到巴尔的摩和费城去。我有个幽静的地方，还有一架斯坦韦钢琴，他们会为我唱个通宵。” “太妙了！让我考虑考虑，明天上午写信告诉你行吗？” 她亲切地说，但话音里有一点收场的暗示。博福特显然感觉到了，但由于不习惯遭人拒绝，他仍站在那儿盯着她，两眼之间凝成一道顽固的皱纹。 “干吗不现在呢？” “这个问题太重要啦，时间又这么晚了，我不能仓促决定呀。” “你认为时间很晚了吗？” 她冷冷地回视他一眼说：“是的；因为我还要同阿切尔先生谈一会儿正事。” “噢，”博福特生气道。她的语气里没有一点恳求的意味，他轻轻耸了耸肩，恢复了镇静。他拉起她的手，熟练地吻了一下，到了门口又大声喊道：“听我说，纽兰，假如你能说服伯爵夫人留在城里，你当然也可一块儿去吃晚饭。”说完，他迈着傲慢有力的脚步离开了客厅。 有一会儿功夫，阿切尔以为莱特布赖先生一定已把他来访的事告诉了她；不过她接着说的毫不相干的话又改变了他的想法。 “这么说，你认识画家？你对他们的环境很熟悉？”她带着好奇的目光问道。 “哦，不完全是这样。我看艺术家们在这里没有什么环境，哪一个都没有。他们更像一层薄薄的外缘。” “可你喜欢这类东西吗？” “非常喜欢。我在巴黎和伦敦的时候，从不放过一次展览。我尽量跟上潮流。” 她低头看着从她那身绸缎长裙底下露出来的缎靴的靴尖。 “我过去也非常喜欢：我的生活里充满了这些东西。可现在，我想尽量不去喜欢它们。” “你想尽量不去喜欢？” “不错，我想全部放弃过去的生活，变得跟这里每个人完全一样。” 阿切尔红了脸说：“你永远也不会跟这里的每个人一样。” 她抬起端正的眉毛，停了一会儿说：“啊，别这样说。你若是明白我多么讨厌与众不同就好了！” 她的脸变得像一张悲剧面具那样忧郁。她向前躬了躬身子，用两只纤瘦的手紧紧抱住双膝，目光从他身上移开，投向了神秘的远方。 “我想彻底摆脱过去的生活，”她坚决地说。 他等了一会，清了清喉咙说：“我知道。莱特布赖先生对我讲了。” “啊？” “我来就是为了这件事。他让我来——你知道，我在事务所工作。” 她看上去有点意外，接着，眼睛里又露出喜色。“你是说你可以为我处理这件事？我可以跟你谈，不用跟莱特布赖先生？啊，这会轻松多了！” 她的语气感动了他，他的信心也伴随自我满足而倍增。他发觉她对博福特讲有正经事要谈纯粹是为了摆脱他。而赶走博福特不啻是一种胜利。 “我来这儿就是谈这件事的，”他重复说。 她坐着沉默不语，脑袋依然由放在沙发背上的一只胳臂支撑着。她的脸看上去苍白、黯淡，仿佛被那身鲜红的衣服比得黯然失色了。他突然想到她是个可悲甚至可怜的人。 “现在我们要面对严酷的事实了，”他想，同时感到自己心中产生了他经常批评他母亲及其同龄人的那种本能的畏缩情绪。他处理例外情况的实践真是太少了！连其中所用的词汇他都不熟悉，仿佛那些话都是用在小说当中或舞台上的。面对即将发生的情况，他觉得像个小男孩似的局促不安。 停了一会儿，奥兰斯卡夫人出乎意料地感情爆发了。“我想获得自由，我想清除过去的一切。” “我理解。” 她脸上露出喜色。“这么说，你愿意帮我了？” “首先——”他迟疑地说，“也许我应该了解多一点。” 她似乎很惊讶。“你了解我丈夫——我跟他的生活吧？” 他做了个认可的手势。 “哎——那么——还有什么呢？在这个国家难道可以容忍那种事情吗？我是个新教徒——我们的教会并不禁止在这种情况下离婚。” “当然不。” 两个人又都默不作声了。阿切尔觉得奥兰斯基伯爵那封信像幽灵一样在他俩中间讨厌地做着鬼脸。那封信只有半页，内容正如他同莱特布赖谈到时所说的那样：一个发怒的恶棍含糊其辞的指责。然而在它背后有多少事实呢？只有奥兰斯基伯爵的妻子能说清楚。 “你给莱特布赖先生的文件我已经看了一遍，”他终于说道。 “唔——还有比那更讨厌的东西吗？” “没有了。” 她稍稍改换一下姿势，抬起一只手遮住她的眼睛。 “当然，你知道，”阿切尔接着说，“假如你丈夫要想打官司——像他威胁的那样——” “是吗——？” “他可能讲一些——一些可能不愉——对你不利的事情：公开讲出来，被到处传播，伤害你，即使——” “即使——怎么样？” “我是说：不论那些事情多么没有根据。” 她停顿了很长一会。他不想眼睛一直盯在她遮住的脸上，因而有充足的时间把她放在膝盖上的另一只手精确的形状铭刻在心里，还有无名指及小指上那3枚戒指的种种细节；他注意到其中没有订婚戒指。 “那些指责，即便他公之于众，在这里对我能有什么危害呢？” 他差一点就要大声喊出：“我可怜的孩子——在这儿比任何地方危害都大呀！”然而，他却用他自己听起来都像莱特布赖先生的口气回答说：“与你过去居住的地方相比，纽约社交界是个很小的天地。而且，不管表面现象如何，它被少数——思想守旧的人统治着。” 她一语不发，他接着说：“我们关于结婚、离婚的思想特别守旧，我们的立法支持离婚——而我们的社会风俗却不。” “决不会支持？” “唔——决不会，只要那位女子有一点点不利于她的表面现象，只要她由于任何违背常规的行为而使自己受到——受到含沙射影的攻击——不管她受到怎样的伤害，也不管她多么无可指责。” 她的头垂得更低了，他又处于等待之中，紧张地期待一阵愤怒的爆发，或至少是短短一声表示抗议的喊叫。然而什么都没发生。 一个小旅行钟得意似地在她近旁嘀嗒直响，一块木柴烧成两半，升腾起一片火星，寂静的客厅仿佛在忧虑地与阿切尔一起默默地等待着。 “不错，”她终于嗫嚅道，“我的家人对我就是这样说的。” 他皱起眉头说：“这并不奇怪——” “是我们的家人，”她纠正自己的话说；阿切尔红了脸。“因为你不久就是我的表亲了，”她接着温柔地说。 “我希望如此。” “你接受他们的观点吗？” 听了这话，他站起身来，在屋子里踱步，两眼茫然地盯住一幅衬着旧红锦缎的画像，然后又犹豫不决地回到她身边。他无法对她说：“是的，假如你丈夫暗示的情况是真的，或者你没有办法驳斥它。” 他正要开口，她却接着说：“你要说真心话——” 他低头望着炉火说：“好吧，我说真心话——面对一堆可能——不，肯定——会引起的肮脏闲话，你能得到什么好处呢？” “可我的自由——难道就无所谓了吗？” 这时，他忽然想到，信中的指责是真的，她确曾想嫁给和她一起犯罪的那个人。假如她真有过那么一个计划，国法是不会容许的。可他该怎么告诉她呢？仅仅由于怀疑她有那种想法，就已使他对她严厉、不耐烦起来。“可你现在不是跟空气一样地自由吗？”他回答说。“谁能碰你一下呢？莱特布赖先生对我说，经济问题已经了断——” “噢，是的，”她漠然地说。 “既然如此，再去招惹有可能无穷无尽的痛苦与不快，这值得吗？想一想那些报纸有多么恶毒！那完全是愚蠢的、狭隘的、不公正的——可谁也无法改变社会呀。” “不错，”她默认地说。她的声音那样轻、那样凄凉，突然使他对自己那些冷酷的想法感到懊悔。 “在这种情况下，个人几乎总是要成为所谓集体利益的牺牲品：人们对维系家庭的任何常规都抱住不放——假如有什么常规，那也就是保护儿童。’他漫无边际地说下去，把跑到嘴边的陈词滥调统统倒出来，极力想掩盖她的沉默似乎已经暴露无遗的丑恶事实。既然她不肯或者不能说出一句澄清事实的话，那么，他的希望就是别让她以为他是想刺探她的秘密。按照老纽约精明老到的习惯，对于不能治愈的伤口，与其冒险揭开，还不如保持原状为好。 “我的职责是帮助你，使你能像那些最喜爱你的人一样看待这些事情，”他接着说。“像明戈特夫妇、韦兰夫妇、范德卢顿夫妇，你所有的亲戚朋友：假如我不实事求是地向你说明他们是怎样看待这类问题的，那我就是不公平了，不是吗？”他急于打破那令人惊恐的沉默，几乎是在恳求她似地，滔滔不绝地说着。 她慢声慢气地说：“是的，那会不公平的。” 炉火已经暗淡，一盏灯咯咯响着请求关照。奥兰斯卡夫人起身把灯头拧上来，又回到炉火旁，但没有重新就坐。 她继续站在那儿，似乎表示两个人都已没有什么可说的了，于是阿切尔也站了起来。 “很好；我会照你希望的去做，”她突然说。热血涌上了他的额头，被她突然的投降吓了一跳，他笨拙地抓起她的双手。 “我——我真的想帮助你，”他说。 “你是在帮助我。晚安，我的表弟。” 他俯身将嘴唇放在她的手上，那双手冷冰冰地毫无生气。她把手抽开，他转身向门口走去，借着门厅暗淡的灯光找到他的外套和礼帽，然后便走进了冬季的夜色中，心中涌出迟到的滔滔话语。

Chapter 13

It was a crowded night at Wallack's theatre. The play was "The Shaughraun," with Dion Boucicault in the title roleand Harry Montague and Ada Dyas as the lovers. The popularity of theadmirable English company was at its height, and the Shaughraun alwayspacked the house. In the galleries the enthusiasm was unreserved; in thestalls and boxes, people smiled a little at the hackneyed sentimentsand clap- trap situations, and enjoyed the play as much as the galleriesdid. There was one episode, in particular, that held the house from floorto ceiling. It was that in which Harry Montague, after a sad, almostmonosyllabic scene of parting with Miss Dyas, bade her good-bye, andturned to go. The actress, who was standing near the mantelpiece andlooking down into the fire, wore a gray cashmere dress withoutfashionable loopings or trimmings, moulded to her tall figure andflowing in long lines about her feet. Around her neck was a narrow blackvelvet ribbon with the ends falling down her back. When her wooer turned from her she rested her arms against themantel-shelf and bowed her face in her hands. On the threshold he pausedto look at her; then he stole back, lifted one of the ends of velvetribbon, kissed it, and left the room without her hearing him or changingher attitude. And on this silent parting the curtain fell. It was always for the sake of that particular scene that NewlandArcher went to see "The Shaughraun." He thought the adieux of Montagueand Ada Dyas as fine as anything he had ever seen Croisette and Bressantdo in Paris, or Madge Robertson and Kendal in London; in its reticence,its dumb sorrow, it moved him more than the most famous histrionicoutpourings. On the evening in question the little scene acquired an addedpoignancy by reminding him--he could not have said why--of hisleave-taking from Madame Olenska after their confidential talk a week orten days earlier. It would have been as difficult to discover any resemblance betweenthe two situations as between the appearance of the persons concerned.Newland Archer could not pretend to anything approaching the youngEnglish actor's romantic good looks, and Miss Dyas was a tall red-hairedwoman of monumental build whose pale and pleasantly ugly face wasutterly unlike Ellen Olenska's vivid countenance. Nor were Archer andMadame Olenska two lovers parting in heart-broken silence; they wereclient and lawyer separating after a talk which had given the lawyer theworst possible impression of the client's case. Wherein, then, lay theresemblance that made the young man's heart beat with a kind ofretrospective excitement? It seemed to be in Madame Olenska's mysteriousfaculty of suggesting tragic and moving possibilities outside the dailyrun of experience. She had hardly ever said a word to him to producethis impression, but it was a part of her, either a projection of hermysterious and outlandish background or of something inherentlydramatic, passionate and unusual in herself. Archer had always beeninclined to think that chance and circumstance played a small part inshaping people's lots compared with their innate tendency to have thingshappen to them. This tendency he had felt from the first in MadameOlenska. The quiet, almost passive young woman struck him as exactly thekind of person to whom things were bound to happen, no matter how muchshe shrank from them and went out of her way to avoid them. The excitingfact was her having lived in an atmosphere so thick with drama that herown tendency to provoke it had apparently passed unperceived. It wasprecisely the odd absence of surprise in her that gave him the sense ofher having been plucked out of a very maelstrom: the things she took forgranted gave the measure of those she had rebelled against. Archer had left her with the conviction that Count Olenski'saccusation was not unfounded. The mysterious person who figured in hiswife's past as "the secretary" had probably not been unrewarded for hisshare in her escape. The conditions from which she had fled wereintolerable, past speaking of, past believing: she was young, she wasfrightened, she was desperate-- what more natural than that she shouldbe grateful to her rescuer? The pity was that her gratitude put her, inthe law's eyes and the world's, on a par with her abominable husband.Archer had made her understand this, as he was bound to do; he had alsomade her understand that simplehearted kindly New York, on whose largercharity she had apparently counted, was precisely the place where shecould least hope for indulgence. To have to make this fact plain to her--and to witness her resignedacceptance of it--had been intolerably painful to him. He felt himselfdrawn to her by obscure feelings of jealousy and pity, as if her dumbly-confessed error had put her at his mercy, humbling yet endearing her.He was glad it was to him she had revealed her secret, rather than tothe cold scrutiny of Mr. Letterblair, or the embarrassed gaze of herfamily. He immediately took it upon himself to assure them both that shehad given up her idea of seeking a divorce, basing her decision on thefact that she had understood the uselessness of the proceeding; and withinfinite relief they had all turned their eyes from the"unpleasantness" she had spared them. "I was sure Newland would manage it," Mrs. Welland had said proudlyof her future son-in-law; and old Mrs. Mingott, who had summoned him fora confidential interview, had congratulated him on his cleverness, andadded impatiently: "Silly goose! I told her myself what nonsense it was.Wanting to pass herself off as Ellen Mingott and an old maid, when shehas the luck to be a married woman and a Countess!" These incidents had made the memory of his last talk with MadameOlenska so vivid to the young man that as the curtain fell on theparting of the two actors his eyes filled with tears, and he stood up toleave the theatre. In doing so, he turned to the side of the house behind him, and sawthe lady of whom he was thinking seated in a box with the Beauforts,Lawrence Lefferts and one or two other men. He had not spoken with heralone since their evening together, and had tried to avoid being withher in company; but now their eyes met, and as Mrs. Beaufort recognisedhim at the same time, and made her languid little gesture of invitation,it was impossible not to go into the box. Beaufort and Lefferts made way for him, and after a few words withMrs. Beaufort, who always preferred to look beautiful and not have totalk, Archer seated himself behind Madame Olenska. There was no one elsein the box but Mr. Sillerton Jackson, who was telling Mrs. Beaufort in aconfidential undertone about Mrs. Lemuel Struthers's last Sundayreception (where some people reported that there had been dancing).Under cover of this circumstantial narrative, to which Mrs. Beaufortlistened with her perfect smile, and her head at just the right angle tobe seen in profile from the stalls, Madame Olenska turned and spoke in alow voice. "Do you think," she asked, glancing toward the stage, "he will send her a bunch of yellow roses tomorrow morning?" Archer reddened, and his heart gave a leap of surprise. He had calledonly twice on Madame Olenska, and each time he had sent her a box ofyellow roses, and each time without a card. She had never before madeany allusion to the flowers, and he supposed she had never thought ofhim as the sender. Now her sudden recognition of the gift, and herassociating it with the tender leave-taking on the stage, filled himwith an agitated pleasure. "I was thinking of that too--I was going to leave the theatre in order to take the picture away with me," he said. To his surprise her colour rose, reluctantly and duskily. She lookeddown at the mother-of-pearl opera-glass in her smoothly gloved hands,and said, after a pause: "What do you do while May is away?" "I stick to my work," he answered, faintly annoyed by the question. In obedience to a long-established habit, the Wellands had left theprevious week for St. Augustine, where, out of regard for the supposedsusceptibility of Mr. Welland's bronchial tubes, they always spent thelatter part of the winter. Mr. Welland was a mild and silent man, withno opinions but with many habits. With these habits none mightinterfere; and one of them demanded that his wife and daughter shouldalways go with him on his annual journey to the south. To preserve anunbroken domesticity was essential to his peace of mind; he would nothave known where his hair-brushes were, or how to provide stamps for hisletters, if Mrs. Welland had not been there to tell him. As all the members of the family adored each other, and as Mr.Welland was the central object of their idolatry, it never occurred tohis wife and May to let him go to St. Augustine alone; and his sons, whowere both in the law, and could not leave New York during the winter,always joined him for Easter and travelled back with him. It was impossible for Archer to discuss the necessity of May'saccompanying her father. The reputation of the Mingotts' familyphysician was largely based on the attack of pneumonia which Mr. Wellandhad never had; and his insistence on St. Augustine was thereforeinflexible. Originally, it had been intended that May's engagementshould not be announced till her return from Florida, and the fact thatit had been made known sooner could not be expected to alter Mr.Welland's plans. Archer would have liked to join the travellers and havea few weeks of sunshine and boating with his betrothed; but he too wasbound by custom and conventions. Little arduous as his professionalduties were, he would have been convicted of frivolity by the wholeMingott clan if he had suggested asking for a holiday in mid-winter; andhe accepted May's departure with the resignation which he perceivedwould have to be one of the principal constituents of married life. He was conscious that Madame Olenska was looking at him under loweredlids. "I have done what you wished--what you advised," she saidabruptly. "Ah--I'm glad," he returned, embarrassed by her broaching the subject at such a moment. "I understand--that you were right," she went on a little breathlessly; "but sometimes life is difficult . . . perplexing. . ." "I know." "And I wanted to tell you that I DO feel you were right; and that I'mgrateful to you," she ended, lifting her opera-glass quickly to hereyes as the door of the box opened and Beaufort's resonant voice brokein on them. Archer stood up, and left the box and the theatre. Only the day before he had received a letter from May Welland inwhich, with characteristic candour, she had asked him to "be kind toEllen" in their absence. "She likes you and admires you so much--and youknow, though she doesn't show it, she's still very lonely and unhappy. Idon't think Granny understands her, or uncle Lovell Mingott either;they really think she's much worldlier and fonder of society than sheis. And I can quite see that New York must seem dull to her, though thefamily won't admit it. I think she's been used to lots of things wehaven't got; wonderful music, and picture shows, andcelebrities--artists and authors and all the clever people you admire.Granny can't understand her wanting anything but lots of dinners andclothes--but I can see that you're almost the only person in New Yorkwho can talk to her about what she really cares for." His wise May--how he had loved her for that letter! But he had notmeant to act on it; he was too busy, to begin with, and he did not care,as an engaged man, to play too conspicuously the part of MadameOlenska's champion. He had an idea that she knew how to take care ofherself a good deal better than the ingenuous May imagined. She hadBeaufort at her feet, Mr. van der Luyden hovering above her like aprotecting deity, and any number of candidates (Lawrence Lefferts amongthem) waiting their opportunity in the middle distance. Yet he never sawher, or exchanged a word with her, without feeling that, after all,May's ingenuousness almost amounted to a gift of divination. EllenOlenska was lonely and she was unhappy.

这天晚上华莱剧院十分拥挤。 上演的剧目是《肖兰》，戴思·鲍西考尔特担任同名男主角，哈里·蒙塔吉和艾达·戴斯扮演一对情人。这个受人赞赏的英国剧团正处于鼎盛时期，《肖兰》一剧更是场场爆满。顶层楼座观众的热情袒露无遗；在正厅前座和包厢里，人们对陈腐观念与哗众取宠的场面报之一笑，他们跟顶层楼座的观众一样欣赏此剧。 剧中有一个情节对楼上楼下的观众都特别有吸引力。那是哈里·蒙塔古与戴斯小姐告别的伤心场面，两人简短的对话之后，他向她道别，转身要走。站在壁炉近旁、低头望着炉火的女演员穿的开司米连衣裙没有流行的环形物。连衣裙紧贴她高挑的身体，在她的脚部飘垂下来，形成了长长的曲线。她脖颈上围了一条窄窄的黑丝带，丝带的两端垂在背后。 她的求婚者转身离开她之后，她把两臂支在壁炉台上，低头用双手捂住了脸。他在门口停下来看她，接着又偷偷回来，抓起丝带，吻了一下，离开了屋子，而她却没听见他的动静，也没有改变姿势。帷幕就在静悄悄的分手场面中徐徐降下了。 阿切尔一直都是为这一特殊的场景去看《肖兰》这个剧的。他觉得，蒙塔古与艾达·戴斯所演的告别这一幕大美了，比他在巴黎看过的克罗塞特与布雷森特的表演、或在伦敦所看的马奇·罗伯逊与肯德尔的表演一点也不逊色。这一场面的含蓄、其无言的悲哀，比那些最著名的戏剧道白更使他感动。 这天晚上，这一小小的场面由于使他回想起——他不知为什么——他对奥兰斯卡夫人的告别而愈发感人。那是发生在大约一周之前，他们两人经过推心置腹的交谈之后。 两个场面之间很难找到相似之处，相关人物的容貌也毫无共同点。纽兰·阿切尔不敢妄称自己与那位仪表堂堂、年轻浪漫的英国演员有一点儿相像，而戴斯小姐是位身材高大的红发女子，她那张苍白可爱的丑脸也完全不同于埃伦·奥兰斯卡楚楚动人的颜容。阿切尔与奥兰斯卡夫人更不是在心碎的无言中分手的情人，他们是委托人与律师，经过交谈之后分手，而且交谈又使得律师对委托人的情况产生了最糟糕的印象。那么，两者之间有何相似之处，能使年轻人回想时激动得如此怦然心跳呢？原因似乎在于奥兰斯卡夫人那种神秘的天赋：她能让人联想到日常经验之外种种动人的悲剧性的东西。她几乎从来没说过一句会使他产生这种印象的话；这是她的一种内在气质——不是她神秘的异国背景的投影，便是她身上一种非同寻常的、感人肺腑的内在精神的外化。阿切尔一向倾向于认为，对于人们的命运而言，与逆来顺受的性格倾向相比，机遇与环境所起的作用是很小的。这种倾向他从一开始就在奥兰斯卡夫人身上察觉到了，那位沉静的、几乎是消沉的年轻女子给他的印象恰恰就是那种必定会发生不幸的人，不论她怎样退缩，怎样特意回避。有趣的是她曾经生活在戏剧性非常浓烈的氛围之中，以致使她自己那种引发戏剧性事件的性情却隐而不现了。正是她那种处变不惊的态度使他意识到她曾经受过大风大浪：她现在视为理所当然的那些事物就能说明她曾经反抗过的东西。 阿切尔离开她的时候深信奥兰斯基伯爵的指责并非没有根据，那个在他妻子过去的生活中扮演“秘书”角色的神秘人物，在帮助她逃亡后大概不会得不到报偿。她逃离的那种环境是不堪忍受的，难以形容、难以置信的。她年纪轻轻，吓坏了，绝望了——还有什么比感激救援者更顺理成章的呢？遗憾的是，在法律与世人的眼中，她的感激却将她置于与她可恶的丈夫同等的地位。阿切尔已经按照他的职责让她明白了这一点，他还让她明白了，心地单纯而又善良的纽约上流社会——她显然对它的仁爱抱了过高的期望——恰恰是一个她休想得到丝毫宽容的地方。 被迫向她讲明这一事实——而且目睹她决然地加以接受——曾使他感到痛苦不堪。他觉得自己被一种难以名状的妒忌与同情引向她一边，仿佛她默认的错误将她置于他的掌握之中，既贬低了她，却又使她让人喜爱。他很高兴她是向他披露了她的秘密，而不是面对莱特布赖先生冷冰冰的盘问，或者家人尴尬的众目睽睽。他紧接着便履行了自己的职责，向双方保证，她已经放弃了谋求离婚的主意，而她做出这一决定的原因是，她认识到那样做徒劳无益。他们听后感到无限欣慰，便不再谈论她本来可能给他们带来的那些“不愉快”的事。 “我早就相信纽兰会处理好这件事的，”韦兰太太得意地夸奖她未来的女婿说。而召他密谈的老明戈特太太对他的聪明能干表示热烈祝贺，然后又不耐烦地说：“蠢东西！我亲自告诉过她那纯粹是胡闹。当她有幸做已婚女子与伯爵夫人的时候，却想去冒充老处女埃伦·明戈特！” 这些事使年轻人想起与奥兰斯卡最后一次谈话的情形历历在目，以致在两位演员分手、幕布徐徐落下时，他眼睛里涌出了泪水。他站起来要离开剧院。 他走的时候，先转向身后面那一侧，结果却发现他思念着的那位夫人正坐在一个包厢里，跟博福特夫妇、劳伦斯·莱弗茨夫妇及另外一两个男人在一起。自从那天晚上分手之后，他还没有单独跟她讲过话，并且一直设法避免和她在一起。然而现在他们的目光相遇了，与此同时，博福特太太也认出了他，并懒懒地做了个邀请的表示；他不进她的包厢是不可能了。 博福特与莱弗茨为他让出地方，与博福特太太敷衍了几句——她一向喜欢保持优美的神态，而不愿多讲话——他坐在了奥兰斯卡夫人的身后。包厢里除了西勒顿·杰克逊先生别无他人，他正神秘兮兮地小声对博福特太太讲上星期天莱姆尔·斯特拉瑟斯太太招待会的事（有人报道说那儿曾经跳舞）。博福特太太面带完美的笑容听他的详尽叙述，她的头摆得角度恰到好处，使正厅前座那边能看到她的侧影。在这种掩护之下，奥兰斯卡夫人转过身来，低声开了口。 “你认为，”她说，一面朝舞台瞥了一眼，“明天早上他会送她一束黄玫瑰吗？” 阿切尔脸红了，他的心惊跳了一下。他一共拜访过奥兰斯卡夫人两次，每一次他都给她送去一盒黄玫瑰，每一次都没放名片。她以前从未提及过那些花，他以为她决不会想到送花人是他。现在，她突然夸奖那礼物，且把它与舞台上情意浓浓的告别场面联系起来，不由使他心中充满了激动与快乐。 “我也正想这件事——为了把这画面随身带走，我正要离开剧院，”他说。 令他意外的是，她脸上泛起一阵红晕，那红晕来得很不情愿且很忧郁。她低头看着她手套戴得齐齐整整的手上那架珍珠母的观剧望远镜，停了一会儿说：“梅不在的时候你干什么呢？” “我专心工作，”他回答说，对这问题有点不悦。 遵循确立已久的习惯，韦兰一家人上周动身到圣奥古斯丁去了。考虑到韦兰先生有可能发生支气管过敏，他们总是到那儿度过冬末。韦兰先生是个温厚寡言的人，凡事没有主张，却有许多习惯。这些习惯任何人不得干扰，习惯之一就是要求妻子和女儿要永远陪他进行一年一度的南方旅行。保持家庭乐趣的连续不断对他心灵的平静是至关重要的，假如韦兰太太不在身边提醒，他会不知道发刷放在什么地方，不知道怎样往信封上贴邮票。 由于家庭成员间相敬相爱，还由于韦兰先生是他们偶像崇拜的中心，妻子和梅从来没有让他独身一人去过圣奥古斯丁。他的两个儿子都从事法律工作，冬季不能离开纽约，一贯是在复活节前去与他汇合，然后一起返回。 阿切尔要想评论梅陪伴父亲的必要性是根本不可能的。明戈特家家庭医生的声誉主要建立在治疗肺炎病方面，而韦兰先生却从未患过此病，因此他坚持去圣奥古斯丁的主张是不可动摇的。本来，梅的订婚消息是打算等她从佛罗里达回来后再宣布的，但提前公布的事实也不能指望韦兰先生改变他的计划。阿切尔倒是乐于加入旅行者的队伍，与未婚妻一起呆上几个星期，晒晒太阳，划划船。但他同样受到风俗习惯的束缚，尽管他职业上任务并不重，可假如他在仲冬季节请求度假，整个明戈特家族会认为他很轻浮。于是他听天由命地接受了梅的出行，并认识到，这种屈从必将成为他婚后生活的重要组成部分。 他觉察到奥兰斯卡夫人透过低垂的眼帘在看他。“我已经按你希望的——你建议的做了，”她突然说。 “哦——我很高兴，”他回答说，因为她在这样的时刻提这个话题而觉得尴尬。 “我明白——你是正确的，”她有点喘息地接着说。“可有时候生活很艰难……很复杂。” “我知道。” “我当时想告诉你，我确实觉得你是对的；我很感激你，”她打住了话头。这时包厢的门被打开，博福特洪亮的声音打断了他们，她迅速把观剧望远镜举到眼睛上。 阿切尔站起来，离开包厢，离开了剧院。 他前一天刚收到梅·韦兰的一封来信，在信中，她以特有的率直要求他在他们不在时“善待埃伦”。“她喜欢你，崇拜你——而你知道，虽然她没有说，她仍然非常孤单、不快。我想外婆是不理解她的，洛弗尔·明戈特舅舅也不理解她，他们确实以为她比她实际上更世故，更喜欢社交。我很明白，她一定觉得纽约很沉闷，虽然家里人不承认这一点。我觉得她已经习惯了许多我们没有的东西：美妙的音乐、画展，还有名人——艺术家、作家以及你崇拜的所有聪明人。除了大量的宴会、衣服，外婆不理解她还需要别的什么东西——但我看得出，在纽约，差不多只有你一个人能跟她谈谈她真正喜欢的东西。” 他的贤慧的梅——他因为这封信是多么爱她！但他却没打算按信上说的去做：首先，他太忙；而且作为已经订婚的人，他不愿大显眼地充当奥兰斯卡夫人的保护人。他认为，她知道怎样照顾自己，这方面的能力远远超出了天真的梅的想象。她手下有博福特，有范德卢顿先生像保护神似地围着她转，而且中途等待机会的候选人（劳伦斯·莱弗茨便是其中之一）要多少有多少。然而，没有哪一次见着她、哪一次跟她交谈不让他感觉到，梅的真诚坦率几乎称得上是一种未卜先知的天赋。埃伦·奥兰斯卡的确很孤单，而且很不快活。

Chapter 14

As he came out into the lobby Archer ran across his friend NedWinsett, the only one among what Janey called his "clever people" withwhom he cared to probe into things a little deeper than the averagelevel of club and chop-house banter. He had caught sight, across the house, of Winsett's shabbyround-shouldered back, and had once noticed his eyes turned toward theBeaufort box. The two men shook hands, and Winsett proposed a bock at alittle German restaurant around the corner. Archer, who was not in themood for the kind of talk they were likely to get there, declined on theplea that he had work to do at home; and Winsett said: "Oh, well sohave I for that matter, and I'll be the Industrious Apprentice too." They strolled along together, and presently Winsett said: "Look here,what I'm really after is the name of the dark lady in that swell box ofyours--with the Beauforts, wasn't she? The one your friend Leffertsseems so smitten by." Archer, he could not have said why, was slightly annoyed. What thedevil did Ned Winsett want with Ellen Olenska's name? And above all, whydid he couple it with Lefferts's? It was unlike Winsett to manifestsuch curiosity; but after all, Archer remembered, he was a journalist. "It's not for an interview, I hope?" he laughed. "Well--not for the press; just for myself," Winsett rejoined. "Thefact is she's a neighbour of mine--queer quarter for such a beauty tosettle in--and she's been awfully kind to my little boy, who fell downher area chasing his kitten, and gave himself a nasty cut. She rushed inbareheaded, carrying him in her arms, with his knee all beautifullybandaged, and was so sympathetic and beautiful that my wife was toodazzled to ask her name." A pleasant glow dilated Archer's heart. There was nothingextraordinary in the tale: any woman would have done as much for aneighbour's child. But it was just like Ellen, he felt, to have rushedin bareheaded, carrying the boy in her arms, and to have dazzled poorMrs. Winsett into forgetting to ask who she was. "That is the Countess Olenska--a granddaughter of old Mrs. Mingott's." "Whew--a Countess!" whistled Ned Winsett. "Well, I didn't know Countesses were so neighbourly. Mingotts ain't." "They would be, if you'd let them." "Ah, well--" It was their old interminable argument as to theobstinate unwillingness of the "clever people" to frequent thefashionable, and both men knew that there was no use in prolonging it. "I wonder," Winsett broke off, "how a Countess happens to live in our slum?" "Because she doesn't care a hang about where she lives--or about anyof our little social sign-posts," said Archer, with a secret pride inhis own picture of her. "H'm--been in bigger places, I suppose," the other commented. "Well, here's my corner." He slouched off across Broadway, and Archer stood looking after him and musing on his last words. Ned Winsett had those flashes of penetration; they were the mostinteresting thing about him, and always made Archer wonder why they hadallowed him to accept failure so stolidly at an age when most men arestill struggling. Archer had known that Winsett had a wife and child, but he had neverseen them. The two men always met at the Century, or at some haunt ofjournalists and theatrical people, such as the restaurant where Winsetthad proposed to go for a bock. He had given Archer to understand thathis wife was an invalid; which might be true of the poor lady, or mightmerely mean that she was lacking in social gifts or in evening clothes,or in both. Winsett himself had a savage abhorrence of socialobservances: Archer, who dressed in the evening because he thought itcleaner and more comfortable to do so, and who had never stopped toconsider that cleanliness and comfort are two of the costliest items in amodest budget, regarded Winsett's attitude as part of the boring"Bohemian" pose that always made fashionable people, who changed theirclothes without talking about it, and were not forever harping on thenumber of servants one kept, seem so much simpler and lessself-conscious than the others. Nevertheless, he was always stimulatedby Winsett, and whenever he caught sight of the journalist's leanbearded face and melancholy eyes he would rout him out of his corner andcarry him off for a long talk. Winsett was not a journalist by choice. He was a pure man of letters,untimely born in a world that had no need of letters; but afterpublishing one volume of brief and exquisite literary appreciations, ofwhich one hundred and twenty copies were sold, thirty given away, andthe balance eventually destroyed by the publishers (as per contract) tomake room for more marketable material, he had abandoned his realcalling, and taken a sub-editorial job on a women's weekly, wherefashion- plates and paper patterns alternated with New Englandlove-stories and advertisements of temperance drinks. On the subject of "Hearth-fires" (as the paper was called) he wasinexhaustibly entertaining; but beneath his fun lurked the sterilebitterness of the still young man who has tried and given up. Hisconversation always made Archer take the measure of his own life, andfeel how little it contained; but Winsett's, after all, contained stillless, and though their common fund of intellectual interests andcuriosities made their talks exhilarating, their exchange of viewsusually remained within the limits of a pensive dilettantism. "The fact is, life isn't much a fit for either of us," Winsett hadonce said. "I'm down and out; nothing to be done about it. I've got onlyone ware to produce, and there's no market for it here, and won't be inmy time. But you're free and you're well-off. Why don't you get intotouch? There's only one way to do it: to go into politics." Archer threw his head back and laughed. There one saw at a flash theunbridgeable difference between men like Winsett and theothers--Archer's kind. Every one in polite circles knew that, inAmerica, "a gentleman couldn't go into politics." But, since he couldhardly put it in that way to Winsett, he answered evasively: "Look atthe career of the honest man in American politics! They don't want us." "Who's `they'? Why don't you all get together and be `they' yourselves?" Archer's laugh lingered on his lips in a slightly condescendingsmile. It was useless to prolong the discussion: everybody knew themelancholy fate of the few gentlemen who had risked their clean linen inmunicipal or state politics in New York. The day was past when thatsort of thing was possible: the country was in possession of the bossesand the emigrant, and decent people had to fall back on sport orculture. "Culture! Yes--if we had it! But there are just a few little localpatches, dying out here and there for lack of--well, hoeing andcross-fertilising: the last remnants of the old European tradition thatyour forebears brought with them. But you're in a pitiful littleminority: you've got no centre, no competition, no audience. You're likethe pictures on the walls of a deserted house: `The Portrait of aGentleman.' You'll never amount to anything, any of you, till you rollup your sleeves and get right down into the muck. That, or emigrate . . .God! If I could emigrate . . ." Archer mentally shrugged his shoulders and turned the conversationback to books, where Winsett, if uncertain, was always interesting.Emigrate! As if a gentleman could abandon his own country! One could nomore do that than one could roll up one's sleeves and go down into themuck. A gentleman simply stayed at home and abstained. But you couldn'tmake a man like Winsett see that; and that was why the New York ofliterary clubs and exotic restaurants, though a first shake made it seemmore of a kaleidoscope, turned out, in the end, to be a smaller box,with a more monotonous pattern, than the assembled atoms of FifthAvenue. The next morning Archer scoured the town in vain for more yellowroses. In consequence of this search he arrived late at the office,perceived that his doing so made no difference whatever to any one, andwas filled with sudden exasperation at the elaborate futility of hislife. Why should he not be, at that moment, on the sands of St.Augustine with May Welland? No one was deceived by his pretense ofprofessional activity. In old-fashioned legal firms like that of whichMr. Letterblair was the head, and which were mainly engaged in themanagement of large estates and "conservative" investments, there werealways two or three young men, fairly well-off, and without professionalambition, who, for a certain number of hours of each day, sat at theirdesks accomplishing trivial tasks, or simply reading the newspapers.Though it was supposed to be proper for them to have an occupation, thecrude fact of money-making was still regarded as derogatory, and thelaw, being a profession, was accounted a more gentlemanly pursuit thanbusiness. But none of these young men had much hope of really advancingin his profession, or any earnest desire to do so; and over many of themthe green mould of the perfunctory was already perceptibly spreading. It made Archer shiver to think that it might be spreading over himtoo. He had, to be sure, other tastes and interests; he spent hisvacations in European travel, cultivated the "clever people" May spokeof, and generally tried to "keep up," as he had somewhat wistfully putit to Madame Olenska. But once he was married, what would become of thisnarrow margin of life in which his real experiences were lived? He hadseen enough of other young men who had dreamed his dream, though perhapsless ardently, and who had gradually sunk into the placid and luxuriousroutine of their elders. From the office he sent a note by messenger to Madame Olenska, askingif he might call that afternoon, and begging her to let him find areply at his club; but at the club he found nothing, nor did he receiveany letter the following day. This unexpected silence mortified himbeyond reason, and though the next morning he saw a glorious cluster ofyellow roses behind a florist's window-pane, he left it there. It wasonly on the third morning that he received a line by post from theCountess Olenska. To his surprise it was dated from Skuytercliff,whither the van der Luydens had promptly retreated after putting theDuke on board his steamer. "I ran away," the writer began abruptly (without the usualpreliminaries), "the day after I saw you at the play, and these kindfriends have taken me in. I wanted to be quiet, and think things over.You were right in telling me how kind they were; I feel myself so safehere. I wish that you were with us." She ended with a conventional"Yours sincerely," and without any allusion to the date of her return. The tone of the note surprised the young man. What was Madame Olenskarunning away from, and why did she feel the need to be safe? His firstthought was of some dark menace from abroad; then he reflected that hedid not know her epistolary style, and that it might run to picturesqueexaggeration. Women always exaggerated; and moreover she was not whollyat her ease in English, which she often spoke as if she were translatingfrom the French. "Je me suis evadee--" put in that way, the openingsentence immediately suggested that she might merely have wanted toescape from a boring round of engagements; which was very likely true,for he judged her to be capricious, and easily wearied of the pleasureof the moment. It amused him to think of the van der Luydens' having carried her offto Skuytercliff on a second visit, and this time for an indefiniteperiod. The doors of Skuytercliff were rarely and grudgingly opened tovisitors, and a chilly week-end was the most ever offered to the fewthus privileged. But Archer had seen, on his last visit to Paris, thedelicious play of Labiche, "Le Voyage de M. Perrichon," and heremembered M. Perrichon's dogged and undiscouraged attachment to theyoung man whom he had pulled out of the glacier. The van der Luydens hadrescued Madame Olenska from a doom almost as icy; and though there weremany other reasons for being attracted to her, Archer knew that beneaththem all lay the gentle and obstinate determination to go on rescuingher. He felt a distinct disappointment on learning that she was away; andalmost immediately remembered that, only the day before, he had refusedan invitation to spend the following Sunday with the Reggie Chiverses attheir house on the Hudson, a few miles below Skuytercliff. He had had his fill long ago of the noisy friendly parties atHighbank, with coasting, ice-boating, sleighing, long tramps in thesnow, and a general flavour of mild flirting and milder practical jokes.He had just received a box of new books from his London book- seller,and had preferred the prospect of a quiet Sunday at home with hisspoils. But he now went into the club writing-room, wrote a hurriedtelegram, and told the servant to send it immediately. He knew that Mrs.Reggie didn't object to her visitors' suddenly changing their minds,and that there was always a room to spare in her elastic house.

阿切尔来到门厅，遇见了他的朋友内德·温塞特。在詹尼所说的“聪明人”当中，此人是他惟一乐于与之深入探讨问题的人，他们之间的交谈比俱乐部的一般水平及餐馆里的调侃略深一层。 他刚才在剧院的另一端曾瞥见温塞特弯腰曲背的寒酸背影，并注意到他曾把目光转向博福特的包厢。两个人握了握手，温塞特提议到拐角处喝一杯。阿切尔此时对他们可能在那儿进行的交谈没有情绪，便借口回家有工作要做而婉言谢绝。温塞特说：“噢。我也一样，我也要做勤奋的学徒。” 他们一起溜达着向前走。过了一会儿，温塞特说：“听我说，我真正关心的是你们高级包厢里那位忧郁的夫人的名字——她跟博福特夫妇在一起，对吧？你的朋友莱弗茨看样子深深迷上的那一位。” 阿切尔不知为什么有点恼火。内德·温塞特干吗想知道埃伦·奥兰斯卡的名字呢？尤其是，他干吗要把它与莱弗茨的名字相提并论？流露这种好奇心，可不像温塞特的为人。不过，阿切尔想起，他毕竟是位记者。 “我想，你不是为了采访吧？”他笑着说。 “唔——不是为报社，而是为我自己，”温塞特回答说。“实际上，她是我的一位邻居——这样一位美人住在那种地方可真奇怪——她对我的小男孩特别好，他在追他的猫咪时在她那边摔倒了，划伤很厉害。她没戴帽子就跑上去，把他抱在怀里，并把他的膝盖包扎得好好的。她那么有同情心，又那么漂亮，让我妻子惊讶得昏头昏脑，竟没有问她的姓名。” 一阵喜悦洋溢在阿切尔的心头。这段故事并没有什么非凡之处：任何一个女人都会这样对待邻居的孩子。不过他觉得这正体现了埃伦的为人：没戴帽子就跑出去，把孩子抱在怀里，并且让可怜的温塞特太太惊讶得忘了问她是谁。 “她是奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人——老明戈特太太的一位孙女。” “哎哟——还是位伯爵夫人！”内德·温塞特吹了个口哨说，“我没听说过伯爵夫人还这么友善，明戈特家的人就不。” “他们会的，假如你给他们机会。” “哎，可是——”关于“聪明人”不愿与上流社会交往的顽固性，是他俩一直争论不休的老问题了，两个人都明白，再谈下去也是无益。 温塞特突然改变话题说：“不知一位伯爵夫人怎么会住在我们贫民窟里？” “因为她根本不在乎住在哪里——或者说不关心我们小小的社会标志，”阿切尔说，暗中为自己心目中的她感到自豪。 “唔——我想她是在大地方呆过吧，”另一个评论说。“哎，我该转弯了。” 他没精打采地穿过百老汇大街走了，阿切尔站在那儿望着他的背影，品味着他最后的几句话。 内德·温塞特有敏锐的洞察力，这是他身上最有趣的东西，它常常使阿切尔感到纳闷：在大多数男人都还在奋斗的年纪，他的洞察力怎么会容许他无动于衷地接受了失败呢？ 阿切尔早就知道温塞特有妻子和孩子，但从未见过他们。他们两人一向在“世纪”见面，或者在一个记者与戏剧界人士常到的地方，像温塞特刚才提议去喝啤酒的那个餐馆。他给阿切尔的印象是他妻子有病，那位可怜的夫人也许真的有病，但这也许仅仅表示她缺乏社交才能或夜礼服，或者两者都缺。温塞特本人对社交礼仪深恶痛绝，阿切尔穿夜礼服是因为觉得这样更干净更舒服，而且他从没有停下来想一想，干净和舒服在不宽裕的生活开销中是两项昂贵的开支。他认为温塞特的态度属于那种“放荡不羁的文化人”的装腔作势，他们这种态度总使得那些上流社会的人——他们换衣服不声不响，并且不老是把仆人的数目挂在嘴上——显得特别纯朴自然。尽管如此，温塞特却总能够让阿切尔受到振奋，每当见到这位记者那张瘦削的长满胡须的脸和那双忧郁的眼睛，他便把他从角落里拉出来，带他到别处进行长谈。 温塞特做记者并非出于自己的选择。他是个纯文学家，却生不逢时，来到一个不需要文学的世界上；他出版了一卷短小优美的文学鉴赏集之后——此书卖出120本，赠送了30本，其余被出版商（按合同）销毁，以便为更适销的东西让位——便放弃了自己的初衷，担任了一份妇女周报的助理编辑，该报交替发表时装样片。裁剪纸样与新英格兰爱情故事和不含酒精的饮料的广告。 关于“炉火”（报纸的名称）这个话题，他有着无穷无尽的妙论。然而在他调侃的背后却隐含着那种努力过并放弃了的年轻人无奈的苦涩。他的谈话总会让阿切尔去估量自己的生活，并感到它包含的内容是多么贫乏，不过温塞特的生活毕竟包含得更少。虽然知识爱好的共同基础使他们的交谈引人入胜，但他们之间思想观点的交流通常却局限于浅尝辄止的可怜范围内。 “事实上，我们两人生活都不太惬意，”温塞特有一次说。“我是彻底完了，没有办法补救了。我只会生产一种商品，这里却没有它的市场，我有生之年也不会有了。而你却自由并且富有，你干吗不去发挥你的才能呢？惟一一条路是参与政治。” 阿切尔把头向后一甩，哈哈大笑。在这一瞬之间，人们看清了温塞特这种人与别人——阿切尔那种人之间不可弥合的差别。上流社会圈子里人人都知道，在美国， “绅士是不从政”的。但是，因为他很难照直向温塞特说明，所以便含糊其辞地回答说：“看看美国政界正派人的遭遇吧！他们不需要我们。” “‘他们’是指谁？你们干吗不团结起来，也加入‘他们’当中呢？” 阿切尔的笑声到了嘴边又变成略显屈尊的微笑。再讨论下去是白费时间：人人都了解那几位拿自己的家庭清白到纽约市或纽约州政界冒险的绅士的伤心命运。时代不同了，国家掌握在老板和移民手中，正派人只得退居体育运动和文化活动——那种情况再也不可能了。 “文化！不错——我们要是有文化就好了！这里只有几片分散的小片田地，由于缺乏——唔，缺乏耕耘与异花受精而凋零、死亡：这就是你们的先辈带来的欧洲古老传统的残余。但你们处于可怜的少数：没有中心，没有竞争，没有观众。你们就像荒宅里墙壁上的画像——‘绅士的画像’。你们永远成不了气候，任何人都不能，除非挽起袖子，到泥水里摸爬滚打，只有这样，不然就出国做移民……上帝啊！假如我能移民……” 阿切尔暗自耸了耸肩膀，把话题转回到读书上。这方面，如果说温塞特也让人捉摸不透，但他的见解却总是很有趣。移民！好像绅士们还会抛弃自己的家园！谁也不会那样做，就像不可能挽起袖子到泥水里摸爬滚打。绅士们索性就呆在家中自暴自弃。可你无法让温塞特这样的人明白这一点，所以说，拥有文学俱乐部和异国风味餐馆的纽约社会，虽然初次振动一下可以使它变得像个万花筒，但到头来，它不过只是个小匣子，其图案比第五大街各种成分汇合在一起更显单调。 第二天早晨，阿切尔跑遍市区，却没有买到更多的黄玫瑰。搜索的结果使他到事务所迟到了。他发觉这样做对任何人都没有丝毫影响。有感于自己生命的毫无意义，心中顿然充满了烦恼。这个时候他为何不与梅·韦兰一起在圣奥古斯丁的沙滩上呢？他那职业热情的借口谁也骗不了。像莱特布赖先生领导的这种法律事务所，主要从事大宗财产与“稳健”投资的管理，在这类老式的事务所里面总有那么两三个年轻人，他们家境富足，事业上没有抱负，每天花几小时坐在办公桌后面处理些琐事，或者干脆读报纸。虽然人人都认为自己应该有个职业，但赤裸裸地挣钱依然被看作有伤体面，而法律作为一种职业，被视为比经商更有身份的工作。然而这些年轻人没有一个有望在职业上有所成就，而且他们谁也没有这种迫切的欲望。在他们许多人身上，一种新型的敷衍塞责的习气已经相当明显地蔓延起来。 阿切尔想到这种习气也会蔓延到自己身上，心中不禁不寒而栗。当然，他还有其他的趣味与爱好。他经常到欧洲度假旅行，结识了梅所说的“聪明人”，并且正像他怀着思念之情对奥兰斯卡夫人所说的，他尽力在总体上“跟上形势”。然而，一旦结了婚，他实际经历的这种狭小生活范围会有什么变化呢？他已经见过好多跟他怀有同样梦想的年轻人——虽然他们热情可能不如他高——逐渐陷进了他们长辈们那种平静舒适的生活常规。 他让信差从事务所给奥兰斯卡夫人送去一封便函，询问可否在下午前去拜访，并请求她将回信送到他的俱乐部。但到了俱乐部，他什么也没见到，第二天也没接到回信。这一意外的沉默使他羞愧难当。翌日上午虽然他在一家花商的橱窗里见到一束灿烂的黄玫瑰，也未去问津。直到第三日上午，他才收到奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人邮来的一封短信，令他惊讶的是，信是从斯库特克利夫寄来的，范德卢顿夫妇把公爵送上船后立即返回那儿去了。 “在剧院见到你的第二天，我逃跑了，”写信者突兀地开头道（没有通常的开场白），“是这些好心的朋友收留了我。我需要安静下来，好好想一想。你曾说他们对我有多好，你说得很对。我觉得自己在这里很安全。我多盼望你能跟我们在一起呀。”她在结尾用了惯常的“谨启”二字，没有提及她回来的日期。 信中的口气让年轻人颇感惊讶。奥兰斯卡夫人要逃避什么呢？她为什么需要安全感？他首先想到的是来自国外的某种阴险的威胁，接着又琢磨，自己并不了解她写信的风格，也许这属于生动的夸张。女人总是爱夸张的，而且，她对英语还不能完全运用自如，讲的话时常像是刚从法语翻译过来似的。从法语的角度看，第一句话让人直接想到她可能仅仅想躲避一次讨厌的约会，事情很可能就是这样，因为他认为她很任性，很容易对一时的快乐发生厌倦。 想到范德卢顿夫妇把她带到斯库特克利夫进行二次拜访，且这一次没有期限，阿切尔觉得很有趣。斯库特克利夫别墅的大门是难得对客人开放的，获此殊荣的少数人所得到的也往往是令人寒心的周末。不过阿切尔上次去巴黎时曾看过拉比什美妙的喜剧《贝利松先生的旅程》，他还记得贝利松先生对他从冰河中拉出来的那个年轻人那种百折不挠的依恋。范德卢顿夫妇从犹如冰川的厄运中救出了奥兰斯卡夫人，尽管对她的好感还有许多其他原因，但阿切尔明白，在那些原因背后是继续挽救她的高尚而顽强的决心。 得知她走了的消息，他明显地感到很失望，并且几乎立即就想起，前一天他刚拒绝了里吉·奇弗斯夫妇邀请的事。他们请他到他们哈德逊的住宅度过下个周日，那地方就在斯库特克利夫以南几英里处。 很久以前他已尽情享受过海班克那种喧闹友好的聚会，还有沿岸旅行、划冰船、坐雪橇。雪中长途步行等等，并饱尝了适度调情与更适度的恶作剧的大致滋味。他刚刚收到伦敦书商寄来的一箱新书，憧憬着与他的宝物度过一个安静的周日。而现在他却走进了俱乐部的写字间，匆忙写了一封电报，命令仆人立即发出。他知道，里吉太太并不反对她的客人们突然改变主意，而且，在她那富有弹性的住宅里永远能腾出一个房间。

Chapter 15

Newland Archer arrived at the Chiverses' on Friday evening, and onSaturday went conscientiously through all the rites appertaining to aweek-end at Highbank. In the morning he had a spin in the ice-boat with his hostess and afew of the hardier guests; in the afternoon he "went over the farm" withReggie, and listened, in the elaborately appointed stables, to long andimpressive disquisitions on the horse; after tea he talked in a cornerof the firelit hall with a young lady who had professed herselfbroken-hearted when his engagement was announced, but was now eager totell him of her own matrimonial hopes; and finally, about midnight, heassisted in putting a gold-fish in one visitor's bed, dressed up aburglar in the bath-room of a nervous aunt, and saw in the small hoursby joining in a pillow-fight that ranged from the nurseries to thebasement. But on Sunday after luncheon he borrowed a cutter, and droveover to Skuytercliff. People had always been told that the house at Skuytercliff was anItalian villa. Those who had never been to Italy believed it; so didsome who had. The house had been built by Mr. van der Luyden in hisyouth, on his return from the "grand tour," and in anticipation of hisapproaching marriage with Miss Louisa Dagonet. It was a large squarewooden structure, with tongued and grooved walls painted pale green andwhite, a Corinthian portico, and fluted pilasters between the windows.From the high ground on which it stood a series of terraces bordered bybalustrades and urns descended in the steel-engraving style to a smallirregular lake with an asphalt edge overhung by rare weeping conifers.To the right and left, the famous weedless lawns studded with "specimen"trees (each of a different variety) rolled away to long ranges of grasscrested with elaborate cast-iron ornaments; and below, in a hollow, laythe four-roomed stone house which the first Patroon had built on theland granted him in 1612. Against the uniform sheet of snow and the greyish winter sky theItalian villa loomed up rather grimly; even in summer it kept itsdistance, and the boldest coleus bed had never ventured nearer thanthirty feet from its awful front. Now, as Archer rang the bell, the longtinkle seemed to echo through a mausoleum; and the surprise of thebutler who at length responded to the call was as great as though he hadbeen summoned from his final sleep. Happily Archer was of the family, and therefore, irregular though hisarrival was, entitled to be informed that the Countess Olenska was out,having driven to afternoon service with Mrs. van der Luyden exactlythree quarters of an hour earlier. "Mr. van der Luyden," the butler continued, "is in, sir; but myimpression is that he is either finishing his nap or else readingyesterday's Evening Post. I heard him say, sir, on his return fromchurch this morning, that he intended to look through the Evening Postafter luncheon; if you like, sir, I might go to the library door andlisten--" But Archer, thanking him, said that he would go and meet the ladies;and the butler, obviously relieved, closed the door on him majestically. A groom took the cutter to the stables, and Archer struck through thepark to the high-road. The village of Skuytercliff was only a mile and ahalf away, but he knew that Mrs. van der Luyden never walked, and thathe must keep to the road to meet the carriage. Presently, however,coming down a foot-path that crossed the highway, he caught sight of aslight figure in a red cloak, with a big dog running ahead. He hurriedforward, and Madame Olenska stopped short with a smile of welcome. "Ah, you've come!" she said, and drew her hand from her muff. The red cloak made her look gay and vivid, like the Ellen Mingott ofold days; and he laughed as he took her hand, and answered: "I came tosee what you were running away from." Her face clouded over, but she answered: "Ah, well-- you will see, presently." The answer puzzled him. "Why--do you mean that you've been overtaken?" She shrugged her shoulders, with a little movement like Nastasia's,and rejoined in a lighter tone: "Shall we walk on? I'm so cold after thesermon. And what does it matter, now you're here to protect me?" The blood rose to his temples and he caught a fold of her cloak. "Ellen--what is it? You must tell me." "Oh, presently--let's run a race first: my feet are freezing to theground," she cried; and gathering up the cloak she fled away across thesnow, the dog leaping about her with challenging barks. For a momentArcher stood watching, his gaze delighted by the flash of the red meteoragainst the snow; then he started after her, and they met, panting andlaughing, at a wicket that led into the park. She looked up at him and smiled. "I knew you'd come!" "That shows you wanted me to," he returned, with a disproportionatejoy in their nonsense. The white glitter of the trees filled the airwith its own mysterious brightness, and as they walked on over the snowthe ground seemed to sing under their feet. "Where did you come from?" Madame Olenska asked. He told her, and added: "It was because I got your note." After a pause she said, with a just perceptible chill in her voice: "May asked you to take care of me." "I didn't need any asking." "You mean--I'm so evidently helpless and defenceless? What a poorthing you must all think me! But women here seem not--seem never to feelthe need: any more than the blessed in heaven." He lowered his voice to ask: "What sort of a need?" "Ah, don't ask me! I don't speak your language," she retorted petulantly. The answer smote him like a blow, and he stood still in the path, looking down at her. "What did I come for, if I don't speak yours?" "Oh, my friend--!" She laid her hand lightly on his arm, and hepleaded earnestly: "Ellen--why won't you tell me what's happened?" She shrugged again. "Does anything ever happen in heaven?" He was silent, and they walked on a few yards without exchanging aword. Finally she said: "I will tell you--but where, where, where? Onecan't be alone for a minute in that great seminary of a house, with allthe doors wide open, and always a servant bringing tea, or a log for thefire, or the newspaper! Is there nowhere in an American house where onemay be by one's self? You're so shy, and yet you're so public. I alwaysfeel as if I were in the convent again--or on the stage, before adreadfully polite audience that never applauds." "Ah, you don't like us!" Archer exclaimed. They were walking past the house of the old Patroon, with its squatwalls and small square windows compactly grouped about a centralchimney. The shutters stood wide, and through one of the newly-washedwindows Archer caught the light of a fire. "Why--the house is open!" he said. She stood still. "No; only for today, at least. I wanted to see it,and Mr. van der Luyden had the fire lit and the windows opened, so thatwe might stop there on the way back from church this morning." She ranup the steps and tried the door. "It's still unlocked--what luck! Comein and we can have a quiet talk. Mrs. van der Luyden has driven over tosee her old aunts at Rhinebeck and we shan't be missed at the house foranother hour." He followed her into the narrow passage. His spirits, which haddropped at her last words, rose with an irrational leap. The homelylittle house stood there, its panels and brasses shining in thefirelight, as if magically created to receive them. A big bed of embersstill gleamed in the kitchen chimney, under an iron pot hung from anancient crane. Rush-bottomed arm-chairs faced each other across thetiled hearth, and rows of Delft plates stood on shelves against thewalls. Archer stooped over and threw a log upon the embers. Madame Olenska, dropping her cloak, sat down in one of the chairs. Archer leaned against the chimney and looked at her. "You're laughing now; but when you wrote me you were unhappy," he said. "Yes." She paused. "But I can't feel unhappy when you're here." "I sha'n't be here long," he rejoined, his lips stiffening with the effort to say just so much and no more. "No; I know. But I'm improvident: I live in the moment when I'm happy." The words stole through him like a temptation, and to close hissenses to it he moved away from the hearth and stood gazing out at theblack tree-boles against the snow. But it was as if she too had shiftedher place, and he still saw her, between himself and the trees, droopingover the fire with her indolent smile. Archer's heart was beatinginsubordinately. What if it were from him that she had been runningaway, and if she had waited to tell him so till they were here alonetogether in this secret room? "Ellen, if I'm really a help to you--if you really wanted me tocome--tell me what's wrong, tell me what it is you're running awayfrom," he insisted. He spoke without shifting his position, without even turning to lookat her: if the thing was to happen, it was to happen in this way, withthe whole width of the room between them, and his eyes still fixed onthe outer snow. For a long moment she was silent; and in that moment Archer imaginedher, almost heard her, stealing up behind him to throw her light armsabout his neck. While he waited, soul and body throbbing with themiracle to come, his eyes mechanically received the image of aheavily-coated man with his fur collar turned up who was advancing alongthe path to the house. The man was Julius Beaufort. "Ah--!" Archer cried, bursting into a laugh. Madame Olenska had sprung up and moved to his side, slipping her handinto his; but after a glance through the window her face paled and sheshrank back. "So that was it?" Archer said derisively. "I didn't know he was here," Madame Olenska murmured. Her hand stillclung to Archer's; but he drew away from her, and walking out into thepassage threw open the door of the house. "Hallo, Beaufort--this way! Madame Olenska was expecting you," he said. During his journey back to New York the next morning, Archer relivedwith a fatiguing vividness his last moments at Skuytercliff. Beaufort, though clearly annoyed at finding him with Madame Olenska,had, as usual, carried off the situation high-handedly. His way ofignoring people whose presence inconvenienced him actually gave them, ifthey were sensitive to it, a feeling of invisibility, of nonexistence.Archer, as the three strolled back through the park, was aware of thisodd sense of disembodiment; and humbling as it was to his vanity it gavehim the ghostly advantage of observing unobserved. Beaufort had entered the little house with his usual easy assurance;but he could not smile away the vertical line between his eyes. It wasfairly clear that Madame Olenska had not known that he was coming,though her words to Archer had hinted at the possibility; at any rate,she had evidently not told him where she was going when she left NewYork, and her unexplained departure had exasperated him. The ostensiblereason of his appearance was the discovery, the very night before, of a"perfect little house," not in the market, which was really just thething for her, but would be snapped up instantly if she didn't take it;and he was loud in mock-reproaches for the dance she had led him inrunning away just as he had found it. "If only this new dodge for talking along a wire had been a littlebit nearer perfection I might have told you all this from town, and beentoasting my toes before the club fire at this minute, instead oftramping after you through the snow," he grumbled, disguising a realirritation under the pretence of it; and at this opening Madame Olenskatwisted the talk away to the fantastic possibility that they might oneday actually converse with each other from street to street, or even--incredible dream!--from one town to another. This struck from all threeallusions to Edgar Poe and Jules Verne, and such platitudes as naturallyrise to the lips of the most intelligent when they are talking againsttime, and dealing with a new invention in which it would seem ingenuousto believe too soon; and the question of the telephone carried themsafely back to the big house. Mrs. van der Luyden had not yet returned; and Archer took his leaveand walked off to fetch the cutter, while Beaufort followed the CountessOlenska indoors. It was probable that, little as the van der Luydensencouraged unannounced visits, he could count on being asked to dine,and sent back to the station to catch the nine o'clock train; but morethan that he would certainly not get, for it would be inconceivable tohis hosts that a gentleman travelling without luggage should wish tospend the night, and distasteful to them to propose it to a person withwhom they were on terms of such limited cordiality as Beaufort. Beaufort knew all this, and must have foreseen it; and his taking thelong journey for so small a reward gave the measure of his impatience.He was undeniably in pursuit of the Countess Olenska; and Beaufort hadonly one object in view in his pursuit of pretty women. His dull andchildless home had long since palled on him; and in addition to morepermanent consolations he was always in quest of amorous adventures inhis own set. This was the man from whom Madame Olenska was avowedlyflying: the question was whether she had fled because his importunitiesdispleased her, or because she did not wholly trust herself to resistthem; unless, indeed, all her talk of flight had been a blind, and herdeparture no more than a manoeuvre. Archer did not really believe this. Little as he had actually seen ofMadame Olenska, he was beginning to think that he could read her face,and if not her face, her voice; and both had betrayed annoyance, andeven dismay, at Beaufort's sudden appearance. But, after all, if thiswere the case, was it not worse than if she had left New York for theexpress purpose of meeting him? If she had done that, she ceased to bean object of interest, she threw in her lot with the vulgarest ofdissemblers: a woman engaged in a love affair with Beaufort "classed"herself irretrievably. No, it was worse a thousand times if, judging Beaufort, and probablydespising him, she was yet drawn to him by all that gave him anadvantage over the other men about her: his habit of two continents andtwo societies, his familiar association with artists and actors andpeople generally in the world's eye, and his careless contempt for localprejudices. Beaufort was vulgar, he was uneducated, he was purse-proud;but the circumstances of his life, and a certain native shrewdness,made him better worth talking to than many men, morally and socially hisbetters, whose horizon was bounded by the Battery and the Central Park.How should any one coming from a wider world not feel the differenceand be attracted by it? Madame Olenska, in a burst of irritation, had said to Archer that heand she did not talk the same language; and the young man knew that insome respects this was true. But Beaufort understood every turn of herdialect, and spoke it fluently: his view of life, his tone, hisattitude, were merely a coarser reflection of those revealed in CountOlenski's letter. This might seem to be to his disadvantage with CountOlenski's wife; but Archer was too intelligent to think that a youngwoman like Ellen Olenska would necessarily recoil from everything thatreminded her of her past. She might believe herself wholly in revoltagainst it; but what had charmed her in it would still charm her, eventhough it were against her will. Thus, with a painful impartiality, did the young man make out thecase for Beaufort, and for Beaufort's victim. A longing to enlighten herwas strong in him; and there were moments when he imagined that all sheasked was to be enlightened. That evening he unpacked his books from London. The box was full ofthings he had been waiting for impatiently; a new volume of HerbertSpencer, another collection of the prolific Alphonse Daudet's brillianttales, and a novel called "Middlemarch," as to which there had latelybeen interesting things said in the reviews. He had declined threedinner invitations in favour of this feast; but though he turned thepages with the sensuous joy of the book-lover, he did not know what hewas reading, and one book after another dropped from his hand. Suddenly,among them, he lit on a small volume of verse which he had orderedbecause the name had attracted him: "The House of Life." He took it up,and found himself plunged in an atmosphere unlike any he had everbreathed in books; so warm, so rich, and yet so ineffably tender, thatit gave a new and haunting beauty to the most elementary of humanpassions. All through the night he pursued through those enchanted pagesthe vision of a woman who had the face of Ellen Olenska; but when hewoke the next morning, and looked out at the brownstone houses acrossthe street, and thought of his desk in Mr. Letterblair's office, and thefamily pew in Grace Church, his hour in the park of Skuytercliff becameas far outside the pale of probability as the visions of the night. "Mercy, how pale you look, Newland!" Janey commented over thecoffee-cups at breakfast; and his mother added: "Newland, dear, I'venoticed lately that you've been coughing; I do hope you're not lettingyourself be overworked?" For it was the conviction of both ladies that,under the iron despotism of his senior partners, the young man's lifewas spent in the most exhausting professional labours--and he had neverthought it necessary to undeceive them. The next two or three days dragged by heavily. The taste of the usualwas like cinders in his mouth, and there were moments when he felt asif he were being buried alive under his future. He heard nothing of theCountess Olenska, or of the perfect little house, and though he metBeaufort at the club they merely nodded at each other across thewhist-tables. It was not till the fourth evening that he found a noteawaiting him on his return home. "Come late tomorrow: I must explain toyou. Ellen." These were the only words it contained. The young man, who was dining out, thrust the note into his pocket,smiling a little at the Frenchness of the "to you." After dinner he wentto a play; and it was not until his return home, after midnight, thathe drew Madame Olenska's missive out again and re-read it slowly anumber of times. There were several ways of answering it, and he gaveconsiderable thought to each one during the watches of an agitatednight. That on which, when morning came, he finally decided was to pitchsome clothes into a portmanteau and jump on board a boat that wasleaving that very afternoon for St. Augustine.

纽兰·阿切尔周五傍晚来到奇弗斯的家，星期六他真心诚意地履行了在海班克度周末的全部礼节。 上午他与女主人及几位勇敢的客人一起划了冰船；下午他同里吉“视察了农场”，并在精心指定的马厩里听取了有关马的颇为感人的专题演讲；下午用过茶点之后，他在炉火映照的客厅一角与一位年轻女士进行了交谈，后者曾声称在他订婚消息宣布之时她伤心欲绝，但现在却迫不及待地要告诉他自己对婚姻的抱负。最后，在午夜时分，他又协助在一位客人床上摆上金鱼，装修好一位胆小的姑妈浴室里的报警器，后半夜又和别人一起观看了一场从育儿室闹到地下室的小争执。然而星期日午餐过后，他却借了一辆单马拉的小雪橇，向斯库特克利夫驶去。 过去人们一直听说斯库特克利夫那所宅院是一座意大利别墅。未去过意大利的人信以为真，有些去过的人也无异议。那房子是范德卢顿先生年轻时候建造的，那时他刚结束“伟大的旅行”归来，期待着与路易莎·达戈内特小姐行将举办的婚事。那是个巨大的方形木制建筑物，企口接缝的墙壁涂成淡绿色和白色，一道科林斯式的圆柱门廊，窗与窗之间是刻有四槽的半露柱。从宅院所在的高地下来是一个接一个的平台，平台边缘都有扶栏和蕨壶树，钢板雕刻似地一级级下降，通向一个形状不规则的小湖，湖的沿岸铺了沥青，岸边悬垂着珍稀垂枝针叶树。左右两侧是没有杂草的一流草坪，其间点缀着“标本”树（每一株都属不同品种），一直起伏绵延至漫长的草地，草地最高处装有精心制作的铸铁装饰。下面一块谷地中有一幢四居室的石头宅院，是第一位大庄园主1612年在封赐给他的土地上建造的。 笼罩在冬季灰蒙蒙的天空与一片皑皑白雪之间的这座意大利别墅显得相当阴郁，即使在夏季它也保持几分冷淡，连最无拘无束的锦紫苏苗也不敢越雷池半步，始终与别墅威严的前沿保持在30英尺开外的距离。此刻阿切尔摁响了门铃，拖长的丁零声好像经过一座陵墓反转回来，终于反应过来的管家无比惊讶，仿佛从长眠中被唤醒一般。 值得庆幸的是阿切尔属于家族成员，因此，尽管他的光临十分唐突，但仍有资格被告知奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人不在家，她在三刻钟前与范德卢顿太太一起乘车去做下午的礼拜了。 “范德卢顿先生在家，”管家接着说，“不过我想，他现在要么刚要从午睡中醒来，要么正在阅读昨天的《晚邮报》。上午他从教堂回来时，大人，我听他说要在午饭后浏览一下《晚邮报》；如果你乐意，大人，我可以到图书室门口去听一听——” 然而阿切尔却谢绝了他，说他愿去迎一迎夫人们。管家显然松了口气，对着他庄严地把门关上了。 一名马夫把小雪橇赶到马厩里，阿切尔穿过停车场到了大路上。斯库特克利夫村离这儿只有一英里半远，可他知道范德卢顿太太决不会步行，他必须盯在大路上才能看见马车。然而不久，在与大路交叉的人行小道上，他瞥见一个披红斗篷的苗条身影，一条大狗跑在前面。他急忙赶上前去，奥兰斯卡夫人猛然停住脚步，脸上露出欢迎的笑容。 “啊，你来啦！”她说着，从手筒里抽出手来。 红斗篷使她显得活泼愉快，很像从前那位埃伦·明戈特。他笑着抓起她的手，回答说：“我来是要看一看你在逃避什么。” 她脸上掠过一片阴云，不过却回答道：“哦——很快你就明白了。” 她的回答令他困惑不解。“怎么——你是说你遇到了意外？” 她耸了耸肩膀，外加一个很像娜斯塔西娅的小动作，用比较轻松的语气说：“我们往前走走好吗？听过讲道之后我觉得特别冷。现在有你在这儿保护我，还怕什么呢？” 热血涌上了他的额头，他抓住她斗篷的一条褶说：“埃伦——是什么事？你一定得告诉我。” “啊，现在——咱们先来一次赛跑，我的脚冻得快要不能走了，”她喊着说，一面抓起斗篷，在雪地上跑开了。那条狗在她身旁跳跃着，发出挑战的吠声。一时间，阿切尔站在那儿注目观看，雪野上那颗闪动的红色流星令他赏心说目。接着他拔腿追赶，在通向停车场的栅门处赶上了她，两人一边喘息一边笑。 她抬眼望着他，嫣然一笑说：“我知道你会来的！” “这说明你希望我来，”他回答道，对他们的嘻闹显得兴奋异常。银白色的树木在空中闪着神秘的光亮。他们踏雪向前行进，大地仿佛在他们脚下欢唱。 “你是从哪儿来的？”奥兰斯卡夫人问道。 他告诉了她，并补充说：“因为我收到了你的信。” 停了一会儿，她说：“原来是梅要求你照顾我的。”声音里明显带着几分扫兴。 “我用不着谁来要求。” “你是说——我明摆着是孤立无助？你们一定都把我想得太可怜了！不过这儿的女人好像并不——好像决不会有这种需要，一点儿也不需要。” 他放低了声音问：“什么样的需要？” “唉，你别问我！我和你们没有共同语言，”她任性地顶撞他道。 这回答给了他当头一棒，他默然地站在小路上，低头望着她。 “如果我和你没有共同语言，我来这儿是干什么呢？” “唉，我的朋友——！”她把手轻轻放在他的臂上。他恳切地请求道：“埃伦——你为什么不告诉我发生了什么事？” 她又耸了耸肩膀。“难道真的会有什么事发生吗？” 他沉默了。他们一声不吭地向前走了几英尺。她终于说道：“我会告诉你的——可在哪儿，在哪儿告诉你呢？在大温床一样的家里，独自呆一分钟也办不到，所有的门都开着，老是有仆人送茶，送取暖的木柴，送报纸！美国的家庭中难道没有个人的独处之地吗？你们那么怕见人，又那么无遮无掩。我老觉得仿佛又进了修道院 ——或者上了舞台，面对着一群彬彬有礼却决不会鼓掌的可怕观众。” “哦，你不喜欢我们！”阿切尔大声说。 他们正走过老庄园主的那栋住宅，它那低矮的墙壁与方形的小窗密集分布在中央烟筒周围。百叶窗全开着，透过一个新刷过的窗口，阿切尔瞥见了炉火的亮光。 “啊——这房子开着呢！”他说。 她站着不动。“不；只是今天才打开。我想要看看它，范德卢顿先生就让人把炉火生着，把窗子打开了，以便我们上午从教堂回来的路上可以在里面歇歇脚。”她跑上门阶，试着推了推门。“门还没有锁——大幸运了！进来吧，我们可以安静地谈一谈了。范德卢顿太太乘车去莱因贝克看她老姑去了，我们在这房子里再呆一小时也不会有人惦念的。” 他跟随她走进狭窄的过道。他刚才听了她那几句话，情绪有些低落，这时却又无端地高涨起来。这所温馨的小房子就在眼前，里面的镶板与铜器在炉火映照下烟烟生辉，就像是魔术师变出来迎接他们的。在厨房的壁炉里，炉底的余烬还在发着微光，上方一个旧式吊钩上挂着一把铁壶。两把灯心草根做的扶手椅面对面摆在铺了瓷砖的壁炉地面两侧，靠墙的架子里是一排排德尔夫特生产的陶瓷盘子。阿切尔弯下身，往余烬上扔了一块木柴。 奥兰斯卡夫人放下斗篷，坐在一把扶手椅里，阿切尔倚在壁炉上，眼睛看着她。 “你现在笑了，可给我写信的时候却很不愉快，”他说。 “是啊，”她停顿一会儿又说：“可你在这儿我就不会觉得不愉快了。” “我在这儿呆不多久，”他答道，接着闭紧双唇，努力做到适可而止。 “是的，我知道。不过我目光短浅：我只图一时快乐。” 他渐渐领悟到这些话的诱惑性，为了阻止这种感受，他从炉边挪开，站在那儿凝视外面白雪映衬下的黑树干。然而她仿佛也变换了位置，在他与那些树之间，他仍然看见她低头朝着炉火，脸上带着懒洋洋的微笑。阿切尔的心激烈跳动着，不肯就范。假如她逃避的原来是他，假如她是特意等他们单独到这间密室告诉他这件事，那该怎么办？ “埃伦，假如我真的对你能有所帮助——假如你真的想让我来——那么请告诉我，你究竟在逃避什么？”他坚持地问。 他讲话时没有改换姿势，甚至没有转身看她：假如那种事情要发生，就让它这样发生好了。整个房间的宽度横在他们中间，他的眼睛仍然盯着外面的雪景。 很长一段时间她默然无语；其间阿切尔想象着——几乎是听见了——她从后面悄悄走上来，要伸开轻盈的双臂，搂住他的脖子。他等待着，正在为这一奇迹的即将来临而身心激动时，他的目光无意间落到一个穿厚外套的人影上，那人皮领立起，正沿着小路朝住宅这边走来——原来是朱利叶斯，博福特。 “噢——！”阿切尔喊了一声，猛地大笑起来。 奥兰斯卡夫人早已跃身而起，来到他身边，把手伸到他的手里；但她从窗口瞥了一眼，脸色立即白了，赶忙缩了回去。 “原来是这么回事！”阿切尔嘲笑地说。 “我并不知道他在这儿，”奥兰斯卡夫人慑儒道。她的手仍然抓着阿切尔的手，但他把手抽了出去，走到外面的过道里，把大门推开。 “你好，博福特——到这边来！奥兰斯卡夫人正等着你呢，”他说。 第二天上午回纽约的途中，阿切尔带着倦意回顾起他在斯库特克利夫的最后那段时光。 尽管博福特发现他跟奥兰斯卡夫人在一起显然很心烦，但他跟往常一样专横地处理这种局面。他根本不理睬那些妨碍了他的人，他那副样子使对方产生一种无形的、不存在的感觉——如果他对此敏感的话。他们三人溜达着穿过停车场的时候，阿切尔就产生了这种奇怪的失去形体的感觉。这虽然使他的虚荣心受到屈辱，同时也鬼使神差地给了他观察看不到的东西的便利。 博福特带着惯常的悠然自信走进那所小房子，但他的笑容却抹不掉眉心那道垂直的皱纹。很明显奥兰斯卡夫人事先并不知道他要来，尽管她对阿切尔的话中暗示过这种可能性。不管怎样，她离开纽约的时候显然没告诉他去哪儿，她未加说明地离走激怒了他。他出现在这儿的公开理由是前一天晚上发现了一所“理想的小房子”（还未出售），房子确实正适合她，她若是不买，马上就会被别人抢走。他还为舞会的事大声地假装责备她：他刚找到地方她就把他带走了。 “假如那种通过导线交谈的新玩意儿再完善一点，我就从城里告诉你这件事了。这个时候我就会在俱乐部的火炉前烤脚，用不着踩着雪迫你了，”他抱怨地说，装出真的为此而生气的样子。面对这个开场白，奥兰斯卡夫人巧妙地把话题转向那种荒诞的可能性：有一大，他们也许真的可以在两条不同的街上，甚至——像神奇的梦想般——在两个不同的城市互相对话。她的话使他们三人都想到了埃伦·坡与儒尔·凡尔纳，以及那些聪明人在消磨时间、谈论新发明——过早地相信它会显得天真——时脱口而出的那些老生常谈。有关电话的谈论把他们安全地带回到大院子里。 范德卢顿太太还没有回来。阿切尔告辞去取他的小雪橇，博福特则跟随奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人到屋里去了。由于范德卢顿太太不喜欢鼓励未经通报的拜访，他也许可以指望她请他吃顿晚饭，然后便送他回车站去赶9点钟的火车；但也只能如此而已，因为在范德卢顿夫妇看来，一位不带行李旅行的绅士若是想留下过夜，那简直不可思议。他们决不会乐意向博福特这样一位与他们的友谊十分有限的人提这种建议的。 这一切博福特都很明白，而且一定已经预料到了。他为了这么一个小小的报偿而长途跋涉，足见他的急不可耐。无庸讳言他是在追求奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人；而博福特追求漂亮女人只有一个目的。他没有子女，沉闷无聊的家庭生活早已令他厌倦，除了长久性的慰藉之外，他总是按自己的口味寻求艳遇。他就是奥兰斯卡夫人声言要逃避的那个人——问题是，她的逃避是因为被他的纠缠所触怒呢，还是因为她不完全相信自己能抵御那些纠缠——除非她所说的逃避实际上是个挡箭牌，她离开纽约不过是玩的一个花招。 阿切尔对此并不真的相信。尽管他与奥兰斯卡夫人实际见面不多，他却开始认为自己可以从她的脸色——也可以从她的声音——看清她的内心，而她的脸色与声音都对博福特的突然出现流露出厌烦，甚至是惊愕。可话又说回来，假如情况果真如此，那么，她专为会见他而离开纽约不是更糟吗？如果是这样，她就不再是个令人感兴趣的目标了，她就是把自己的命运交给了最卑鄙的伪君子：一个与博福特发生桃色事件的女人，她已经无可救药地把自己“归了类”。 不！假如她能看透博福特，或许还瞧不起他，却仍然因为他有优于她周围其他男人的那些条件被他所吸引——他在两个大陆和两个社会的生活习惯，他与艺术家、演员及那些出头露面的人物的密切关系，以及他对狭隘偏见的冷漠轻蔑——那么，情况更要糟一万倍！博福特粗俗、没教养、财大气粗，但他的生活环境、他的生性机灵使他比许多道德上以及社会地位上比他强的人更有谈趣，后者的视野仅局限于巴特利与中央公园。一个来自广阔天地的人怎么会感觉不到这种差别，怎么会不受其吸引呢？ 奥兰斯卡夫人虽然是出于激愤，才对阿切尔说她与他没有共同语言，但年轻人明白这话在某些方面不无道理。然而博福特却通晓她的语言，而且讲起来驾轻就熟。他的处世态度、情调、看法，与奥兰斯基伯爵那封信中流露的那些东西完全相同，只是稍显粗俗而已。面对奥兰斯基伯爵的妻子，这可能对他不利；但阿切尔大聪明了，他认为像埃伦·奥兰斯卡这样的年轻女子未必会畏惧任何使她回想起过去的东西。她可能以为自己已完全背叛了过去，然而过去诱惑过她的东西现在对她仍然会有诱惑力，即使这违背她的心愿。 就这样，年轻人以一种充满痛苦的公正态度，为博福特、为博福特的牺牲品理清了来龙去脉。他强烈地渴望开导她。他不时想到，她的全部需要就是让人开导。 这天晚上他打开了从伦敦寄来的书，满箱子都是他急切等待的东西：赫伯特·斯宾塞的一部新作，多产作家阿尔冯斯·都德又一卷精品故事集，还有一本据评论界说是十分有趣的小说，名叫《米德尔马奇》。为了这一享受，他已经谢绝了三次晚宴的邀请，然而，尽管他怀着爱书人的审美乐趣翻阅这些书，但却不知道自己读的是什么，书一本接一本地从他手里丢下来。突然，他眼睛一亮，从中发现了一本薄薄的诗集，他订购此书是因为它的书名吸引了他：《生命之家》。他拿起来读，不知不觉沉浸在一种与过去他对书籍的任何感受都不相同的气氛中。它是那样强烈，那样丰富，又那样说不出的温柔，它赋予人类最基本的感情一种新鲜的、缠绵不绝的美。整个通宵他透过那些迷人的篇章追踪一位女子的幻影，那幻影有一张埃伦·奥兰斯卡的脸庞。然而翌晨醒来，他望着街对面一所所棕石的住宅，想起莱特布赖事务所他的办公桌，想到格雷斯教堂里他们家的座位，他在斯库特克利夫园林中度过的那几个小时却变得像夜间的幻影一样虚无飘渺。 “天哪，你脸色多苍白呀，纽兰！”早饭喝咖啡时詹尼说。他母亲补充道：“亲爱的纽兰，最近我注意到你老是咳嗽，我希望你不是劳累过度了吧？”因为两位女士都深信，在那几位资深合伙人的专制统治之下，年轻人的精力全部消耗在职业的俗务中了——而他却从未想到过有必要让她们了解真相。 接下来两三天过得特别慢。按部就班的俗套使他觉得味同嚼蜡，有时他觉得自己仿佛被前途活埋了一样。他没有听到奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人或那所理想的小房子的任何消息，尽管他在俱乐部遇见过博福特，但他们仅仅隔着几张牌桌互相点了点头而已。直到第四天傍晚他回到家时，才发现有一封便函等着他。“明天傍晚过来：我一定要给你解释。埃伦。”信中只有这几个字。 年轻人要外出吃饭，他把信塞进口袋，对“给你”这种法语味微微一笑。饭后他去看了一场戏，直到午夜过后他回到家才把奥兰斯卡夫人的信又取了出来，慢慢重读了几遍。复信可以用好几种方式，在激动不安的不眠之夜，他对每一种都做了一番考虑。时至清晨，他最后的决定是把几件衣服扔进旅行箱，去乘当天下午起锚驶往圣奥古斯丁的轮船。

阿切尔妻子善良 无辜  奥兰可迷人 有魅力  于情于理  两人的暧昧不可有

Chapter 16

When Archer walked down the sandy main street of St. Augustine to thehouse which had been pointed out to him as Mr. Welland's, and saw MayWelland standing under a magnolia with the sun in her hair, he wonderedwhy he had waited so long to come. Here was the truth, here was reality, here was the life that belongedto him; and he, who fancied himself so scornful of arbitraryrestraints, had been afraid to break away from his desk because of whatpeople might think of his stealing a holiday! Her first exclamation was: "Newland--has anything happened?" and itoccurred to him that it would have been more "feminine" if she hadinstantly read in his eyes why he had come. But when he answered:"Yes--I found I had to see you," her happy blushes took the chill fromher surprise, and he saw how easily he would be forgiven, and how sooneven Mr. Letterblair's mild disapproval would be smiled away by atolerant family. Early as it was, the main street was no place for any but formalgreetings, and Archer longed to be alone with May, and to pour out allhis tenderness and his impatience. It still lacked an hour to the lateWelland breakfast-time, and instead of asking him to come in sheproposed that they should walk out to an old orange-garden beyond thetown. She had just been for a row on the river, and the sun that nettedthe little waves with gold seemed to have caught her in its meshes.Across the warm brown of her cheek her blown hair glittered like silverwire; and her eyes too looked lighter, almost pale in their youthfullimpidity. As she walked beside Archer with her long swinging gait herface wore the vacant serenity of a young marble athlete. To Archer's strained nerves the vision was as soothing as the sightof the blue sky and the lazy river. They sat down on a bench under theorange-trees and he put his arm about her and kissed her. It was likedrinking at a cold spring with the sun on it; but his pressure may havebeen more vehement than he had intended, for the blood rose to her faceand she drew back as if he had startled her. "What is it?" he asked, smiling; and she looked at him with surprise, and answered: "Nothing." A slight embarrassment fell on them, and her hand slipped out of his.It was the only time that he had kissed her on the lips except fortheir fugitive embrace in the Beaufort conservatory, and he saw that shewas disturbed, and shaken out of her cool boyish composure. "Tell me what you do all day," he said, crossing his arms under histilted-back head, and pushing his hat forward to screen the sun-dazzle.To let her talk about familiar and simple things was the easiest way ofcarrying on his own independent train of thought; and he sat listeningto her simple chronicle of swimming, sailing and riding, varied by anoccasional dance at the primitive inn when a man-of-war came in. A fewpleasant people from Philadelphia and Baltimore were picknicking at theinn, and the Selfridge Merrys had come down for three weeks because KateMerry had had bronchitis. They were planning to lay out a lawn tenniscourt on the sands; but no one but Kate and May had racquets, and mostof the people had not even heard of the game. All this kept her very busy, and she had not had time to do more thanlook at the little vellum book that Archer had sent her the week before(the "Sonnets from the Portuguese"); but she was learning by heart "Howthey brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix," because it was one ofthe first things he had ever read to her; and it amused her to be ableto tell him that Kate Merry had never even heard of a poet called RobertBrowning. Presently she started up, exclaiming that they would be late forbreakfast; and they hurried back to the tumble-down house with itspointless porch and unpruned hedge of plumbago and pink geraniums wherethe Wellands were installed for the winter. Mr. Welland's sensitivedomesticity shrank from the discomforts of the slovenly southern hotel,and at immense expense, and in face of almost insuperable difficulties,Mrs. Welland was obliged, year after year, to improvise an establishmentpartly made up of discontented New York servants and partly drawn fromthe local African supply. "The doctors want my husband to feel that he is in his own home;otherwise he would be so wretched that the climate would not do him anygood," she explained, winter after winter, to the sympathisingPhiladelphians and Baltimoreans; and Mr. Welland, beaming across abreakfast table miraculously supplied with the most varied delicacies,was presently saying to Archer: "You see, my dear fellow, we camp--weliterally camp. I tell my wife and May that I want to teach them how torough it." Mr. and Mrs. Welland had been as much surprised as their daughter bythe young man's sudden arrival; but it had occurred to him to explainthat he had felt himself on the verge of a nasty cold, and this seemedto Mr. Welland an all-sufficient reason for abandoning any duty. "You can't be too careful, especially toward spring," he said,heaping his plate with straw-coloured griddle- cakes and drowning themin golden syrup. "If I'd only been as prudent at your age May would havebeen dancing at the Assemblies now, instead of spending her winters in awilderness with an old invalid." "Oh, but I love it here, Papa; you know I do. If only Newland couldstay I should like it a thousand times better than New York." "Newland must stay till he has quite thrown off his cold," said Mrs.Welland indulgently; and the young man laughed, and said he supposedthere was such a thing as one's profession. He managed, however, after an exchange of telegrams with the firm, tomake his cold last a week; and it shed an ironic light on the situationto know that Mr. Letterblair's indulgence was partly due to thesatisfactory way in which his brilliant young junior partner had settledthe troublesome matter of the Olenski divorce. Mr. Letterblair had letMrs. Welland know that Mr. Archer had "rendered an invaluable service"to the whole family, and that old Mrs. Manson Mingott had beenparticularly pleased; and one day when May had gone for a drive with herfather in the only vehicle the place produced Mrs. Welland tookoccasion to touch on a topic which she always avoided in her daughter'spresence. "I'm afraid Ellen's ideas are not at all like ours. She was barelyeighteen when Medora Manson took her back to Europe--you remember theexcitement when she appeared in black at her coming-out ball? Another ofMedora's fads--really this time it was almost prophetic! That must havebeen at least twelve years ago; and since then Ellen has never been toAmerica. No wonder she is completely Europeanised." "But European society is not given to divorce: Countess Olenskathought she would be conforming to American ideas in asking for herfreedom." It was the first time that the young man had pronounced hername since he had left Skuytercliff, and he felt the colour rise to hischeek. Mrs. Welland smiled compassionately. "That is just like theextraordinary things that foreigners invent about us. They think we dineat two o'clock and countenance divorce! That is why it seems to me sofoolish to entertain them when they come to New York. They accept ourhospitality, and then they go home and repeat the same stupid stories." Archer made no comment on this, and Mrs. Welland continued: "But wedo most thoroughly appreciate your persuading Ellen to give up the idea.Her grandmother and her uncle Lovell could do nothing with her; both ofthem have written that her changing her mind was entirely due to yourinfluence--in fact she said so to her grandmother. She has an unboundedadmiration for you. Poor Ellen--she was always a wayward child. I wonderwhat her fate will be?" "What we've all contrived to make it," he felt like answering. "ifyou'd all of you rather she should be Beaufort's mistress than somedecent fellow's wife you've certainly gone the right way about it." He wondered what Mrs. Welland would have said if he had uttered thewords instead of merely thinking them. He could picture the suddendecomposure of her firm placid features, to which a lifelong masteryover trifles had given an air of factitious authority. Traces stilllingered on them of a fresh beauty like her daughter's; and he askedhimself if May's face was doomed to thicken into the same middle-agedimage of invincible innocence. Ah, no, he did not want May to have that kind of innocence, theinnocence that seals the mind against imagination and the heart againstexperience! "I verily believe," Mrs. Welland continued, "that if the horriblebusiness had come out in the newspapers it would have been my husband'sdeath-blow. I don't know any of the details; I only ask not to, as Itold poor Ellen when she tried to talk to me about it. Having an invalidto care for, I have to keep my mind bright and happy. But Mr. Wellandwas terribly upset; he had a slight temperature every morning while wewere waiting to hear what had been decided. It was the horror of hisgirl's learning that such things were possible--but of course, dearNewland, you felt that too. We all knew that you were thinking of May." "I'm always thinking of May," the young man rejoined, rising to cut short the conversation. He had meant to seize the opportunity of his private talk with Mrs.Welland to urge her to advance the date of his marriage. But he couldthink of no arguments that would move her, and with a sense of relief hesaw Mr. Welland and May driving up to the door. His only hope was to plead again with May, and on the day before hisdeparture he walked with her to the ruinous garden of the SpanishMission. The background lent itself to allusions to European scenes; andMay, who was looking her loveliest under a wide-brimmed hat that cast ashadow of mystery over her too-clear eyes, kindled into eagerness as hespoke of Granada and the Alhambra. "We might be seeing it all this spring--even the Easter ceremonies atSeville," he urged, exaggerating his demands in the hope of a largerconcession. "Easter in Seville? And it will be Lent next week!" she laughed. "Why shouldn't we be married in Lent?" he rejoined; but she looked so shocked that he saw his mistake. "Of course I didn't mean that, dearest; but soon after Easter--sothat we could sail at the end of April. I know I could arrange it at theoffice." She smiled dreamily upon the possibility; but he perceived that todream of it sufficed her. It was like hearing him read aloud out of hispoetry books the beautiful things that could not possibly happen in reallife. "Oh, do go on, Newland; I do love your descriptions." "But why should they be only descriptions? Why shouldn't we make them real?" "We shall, dearest, of course; next year." Her voice lingered over it. "Don't you want them to be real sooner? Can't I persuade you to break away now?" She bowed her head, vanishing from him under her conniving hat-brim. "Why should we dream away another year? Look at me, dear! Don't you understand how I want you for my wife?" For a moment she remained motionless; then she raised on him eyes ofsuch despairing dearness that he half-released her waist from his hold.But suddenly her look changed and deepened inscrutably. "I'm not sure ifI DO understand," she said. "Is it--is it because you're not certain ofcontinuing to care for me?" Archer sprang up from his seat. "My God--perhaps--I don't know," he broke out angrily. May Welland rose also; as they faced each other she seemed to grow inwomanly stature and dignity. Both were silent for a moment, as ifdismayed by the unforeseen trend of their words: then she said in a lowvoice: "If that is it--is there some one else?" "Some one else--between you and me?" He echoed her words slowly, asthough they were only half- intelligible and he wanted time to repeatthe question to himself. She seemed to catch the uncertainty of hisvoice, for she went on in a deepening tone: "Let us talk frankly,Newland. Sometimes I've felt a difference in you; especially since ourengagement has been announced." "Dear--what madness!" he recovered himself to exclaim. She met his protest with a faint smile. "If it is, it won't hurt usto talk about it." She paused, and added, lifting her head with one ofher noble movements: "Or even if it's true: why shouldn't we speak ofit? You might so easily have made a mistake." He lowered his head, staring at the black leaf-pattern on the sunnypath at their feet. "Mistakes are always easy to make; but if I had madeone of the kind you suggest, is it likely that I should be imploringyou to hasten our marriage?" She looked downward too, disturbing the pattern with the point of hersunshade while she struggled for expression. "Yes," she said at length."You might want-- once for all--to settle the question: it's one way." Her quiet lucidity startled him, but did not mislead him intothinking her insensible. Under her hat-brim he saw the pallor of herprofile, and a slight tremor of the nostril above her resolutelysteadied lips. "Well--?" he questioned, sitting down on the bench, and looking up at her with a frown that he tried to make playful. She dropped back into her seat and went on: "You mustn't think that agirl knows as little as her parents imagine. One hears and onenotices--one has one's feelings and ideas. And of course, long beforeyou told me that you cared for me, I'd known that there was some oneelse you were interested in; every one was talking about it two yearsago at Newport. And once I saw you sitting together on the verandah at adance-- and when she came back into the house her face was sad, and Ifelt sorry for her; I remembered it afterward, when we were engaged." Her voice had sunk almost to a whisper, and she sat clasping andunclasping her hands about the handle of her sunshade. The young manlaid his upon them with a gentle pressure; his heart dilated with aninexpressible relief. "My dear child--was THAT it? If you only knew the truth!" She raised her head quickly. "Then there is a truth I don't know?" He kept his hand over hers. "I meant, the truth about the old story you speak of." "But that's what I want to know, Newland--what I ought to know. Icouldn't have my happiness made out of a wrong--an unfairness--tosomebody else. And I want to believe that it would be the same with you.What sort of a life could we build on such foundations?" Her face had taken on a look of such tragic courage that he felt likebowing himself down at her feet. "I've wanted to say this for a longtime," she went on. "I've wanted to tell you that, when two peoplereally love each other, I understand that there may be situations whichmake it right that they should--should go against public opinion. And ifyou feel yourself in any way pledged . . . pledged to the person we'vespoken of . . . and if there is any way . . . any way in which you canfulfill your pledge . . . even by her getting a divorce . . . Newland,don't give her up because of me!" His surprise at discovering that her fears had fastened upon anepisode so remote and so completely of the past as his love-affair withMrs. Thorley Rushworth gave way to wonder at the generosity of her view.There was something superhuman in an attitude so recklessly unorthodox,and if other problems had not pressed on him he would have been lost inwonder at the prodigy of the Wellands' daughter urging him to marry hisformer mistress. But he was still dizzy with the glimpse of theprecipice they had skirted, and full of a new awe at the mystery ofyoung-girlhood. For a moment he could not speak; then he said: "There is nopledge--no obligation whatever--of the kind you think. Such cases don'talways--present themselves quite as simply as . . . But that's no matter. . . I love your generosity, because I feel as you do about thosethings . . . I feel that each case must be judged individually, on itsown merits . . . irrespective of stupid conventionalities . . . I mean,each woman's right to her liberty--" He pulled himself up, startled bythe turn his thoughts had taken, and went on, looking at her with asmile: "Since you understand so many things, dearest, can't you go alittle farther, and understand the uselessness of our submitting toanother form of the same foolish conventionalities? If there's no oneand nothing between us, isn't that an argument for marrying quickly,rather than for more delay?" She flushed with joy and lifted her face to his; as he bent to it hesaw that her eyes were full of happy tears. But in another moment sheseemed to have descended from her womanly eminence to helpless andtimorous girlhood; and he understood that her courage and initiativewere all for others, and that she had none for herself. It was evidentthat the effort of speaking had been much greater than her studiedcomposure betrayed, and that at his first word of reassurance she haddropped back into the usual, as a too-adventurous child takes refuge inits mother's arms. Archer had no heart to go on pleading with her; he was too muchdisappointed at the vanishing of the new being who had cast that onedeep look at him from her transparent eyes. May seemed to be aware ofhis disappointment, but without knowing how to alleviate it; and theystood up and walked silently home.

经人指点，阿切尔沿着圣奥古斯丁的沙面大路走到韦兰先生的住所，他看见梅·韦兰正站在一棵木兰树下，头发上洒满了阳光。这时，他真奇怪自己为什么等了这么久才来。 这儿才是真的，这儿才是现实，这儿才是属于他的生活。而他这个自以为藐视专制羁绊的人，竟然因为害怕别人会以为他偷闲而不敢离开办公桌！ 她的第一声呼喊是：“纽兰——出什么事了吗？”他想，假如她立即就从他的眼色中看出他来的原因，那就更像“女人”了。然而，当他回答“是的——我觉得必须见见你”时，她脸上幸福的红晕驱走了惊讶的冷峻。他看出，他会多么轻易地得到家人宽容的谅解；即使莱特布赖先生对他稍有不满，也会很快被他们用微笑加以化解。 因为天色尚早，大街上又只容许礼节性的问候，阿切尔渴望能与梅单独在一起，向她倾吐他的柔情蜜意、他的急不可耐。距韦兰家较晚的早餐时间还有一个小时，她没让他进家，而是提议到市区远处一个古老的桔园去走一走。她刚刚在河中划了一会船，给细浪罩上一层金网的太阳似乎也把她罩在网中了。她那被吹乱了的头发披散在微黑发暖的面颊上，像银丝般熠熠闪光。她的眼睛也显得更亮了，几乎变成灰白色，清澈中透着青春的气息。她迈开大步，走在阿切尔身旁，脸上平静、安详的表情酷似一尊年轻运动员的大理石雕像。 对阿切尔紧张的神经来说，这一形象就像蓝天及缓缓的流水那样令人安慰。他们坐在桔树下的凳子上，他用胳膊搂住她并亲吻她，那滋味就像在烈日下喝冰冷的泉水一般甘甜。不过他拥抱的力量比他预想的大了些，她脸上一红，急忙抽回身来，仿佛被他吓了一跳。 “怎么了？”他笑着问；她惊讶地看着他，说：“没什么。” 他们两人之间多少有点儿尴尬，她把手从他手中抽了出来。除了在博福特家暖房里那次短暂的拥抱之外，这是他惟一一次亲吻她的唇，他看出她有些不安，失去了她那男孩般的镇静。 “告诉我你整天干些什么，”他说，一面把两臂交叉在后翘的头下面，并把帽子向前推了推，挡住日射。让她谈论熟悉、简单的事情是他进行独立思考的最简单的办法，他坐在那儿听她报告简单的流水账：游泳、划船、骑马，偶尔有军舰开来时，到那个老式旅馆参加一场舞会，算是一点变化。从费城和巴尔的摩来的几个有趣的人在客栈举行野餐；因为凯特·梅里得了支气管炎，塞尔弗里奇·梅里一家来这里打算住三个星期。他们计划在沙滩上设一个网球场，但除了凯特和梅，别人谁都没有球拍，多数人甚至都没听说过这项运动。 这些事使她非常繁忙，没有更多的时间，阿切尔上周寄给她的那本羊皮纸小书（《葡萄牙十四行诗》）她只能翻一翻，不过她正在背诵“他们何以把好消息从格恩特传到艾克斯”，因为那是他第一次读给她听的东西；她很高兴能够告诉他，凯特·梅里甚至从未听说过有个叫罗伯特·布朗宁的诗人。 不一会儿她跳了起来，嚷着他们要耽误早饭了。两人急忙赶回那所破旧的房子。门廊没有粉刷，茉莉与粉色天竺葵的树篱也没有修剪。韦兰一家就住在这里过冬。韦兰先生对家务事十分敏感，他畏惧这个邋遢的南方旅馆里种种的不舒服，韦兰太太面对几乎无法克服的困难，不得不付出极大的代价，年复一年地拼凑仆从人员—— 一部分由心怀不满的纽约的仆人组成，一部分从当地非洲人供应站吸收。 “医生们要求我丈夫要感觉跟在自己家中一样，否则他会很难过，气候对他也无益了，”一个冬天又一个冬天，她向那些富有同情心的费城人和巴尔的摩人解释说。韦兰先生正眉开眼笑地看着餐桌上奇迹般摆上的最丰盛的菜肴，见到阿切尔马上说：“你瞧，亲爱的，我们是在野营——真正的野营。我告诉妻子和梅我要教教她们怎样受苦。” 对于年轻人的突然来临，韦兰先生与太太原本与女儿一样感到意外，不过，他事先想好了理由，说他感觉就要得一场重感冒，而在韦兰先生看来，有了这个理由，放弃任何职责都是理所当然。 “你怎样小心都不过分，尤其在临近冬天的时候，”他说，一面往他的盘子里堆烤饼，并把它们泡在金色的糖浆里。“假如我在你这个年纪就知道节俭的话，梅现在就会去州议会的舞场上跳舞，而用不着在这个荒凉的地方陪着一个老病号过冬了。” “哎，可我喜欢这里的生活，爸爸，你知道我喜欢。如果纽兰能留下来，那我喜欢这儿胜过纽约一千倍。” “纽兰必须呆在这儿，直到彻底治好感冒，”韦兰太太疼爱地说。年轻人笑了，并说他认为一个人的职业还是要考虑的。 然而，与事务所交换几封电报之后，他设法使他的“感冒”延续了一周时间。莱特布赖先生之所以表现得宽容大度，一部分原因是由于他的这位聪明的年轻合伙人圆满解决了奥兰斯基棘手的离婚问题，阿切尔对此不由感到一点儿讽刺的意味。莱特布赖先生已经通知韦兰太太，阿切尔先生为整个家族“做出了不可估量的贡献”，曼森·明戈特老太太特别高兴。有一天，梅与父亲坐着当地惟一一辆马车外出时，韦兰太太趁机提起了她一向在女儿面前回避的话题。 “我看埃伦的想法跟我们根本不同，梅多拉·曼森带她回欧洲的时候，她还不满18岁。你还记得她身穿黑衣服，初进社交界时在舞会上那个兴奋劲儿吗？又是梅多拉的一个怪念头——这一次真像是预言的一样！那至少是12年前的事了，从那以后埃伦从未到过美国。难怪她完全欧化了呢。” “但欧洲上流社会也不喜欢离婚的：奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人认为要求个人自由符合美国的思想。”自从离开斯库特克利夫后，年轻人这是第一次提她的名字，他感觉脸上泛起一阵红晕。 韦兰太太露出同情的笑容。“这正像外国人对我们那些离奇的杜撰一样。他们以为我们两点钟吃晚饭，并且纵容离婚！所以说，他们来纽约的时候，我还招待他们，真有点傻。他们接受我们的款待，然后回到家再重复同样的蠢话。” 阿切尔对此未加评论，韦兰太太接下去说：“不过，你说服埃伦放弃了那个念头，我们的确非常赞赏。她祖母和她叔叔拉弗尔对她毫无办法。两人都写信说她的转变完全是由于你的影响——实际上她对祖母也是这样说的。她对你无限崇拜。可怜的埃伦——她过去一直是个任性的孩子。不知她的命运会怎样呢？” “会是我们大家刻意制造的那种结果，”他在心里回答她说。“假如你们愿意让她做博福特的情妇，而不是某个正派人的妻子，那么，你们肯定是做对了。” 假如他真的说出了这些话，而不仅仅是在心里叨咕，不知韦兰太太会说什么。他能够想象她那沉静的面孔会因为惊慌而突然失色——终生掌管琐碎事务使得她脸上带有一种装腔作势的神态。她的脸上还残存着女儿脸上那种姣好的痕迹；他心想，梅的脸庞是否注定也会渐渐变化，不可避免地成为这样愚钝的中年妇女形象呢？ 啊——不，他不愿让梅变得那样愚钝，那会封杀头脑的想像力，封杀心灵的感受力！ “我确实相信，”韦兰太太继续说，“假如那桩讨厌的事在报纸上公布出来，会给我丈夫带来致命的打击。详情我一点也不了解，我只是要求她别那样干。埃伦想对我谈时，我就是这样对她说的。我有个病人要照顾，必须保持心情愉快。但韦兰先生还是被弄得心烦意乱，我们等着听有什么结果时，他每天上午总要发低烧。他怕女儿知道还会有这种事情——亲爱的纽兰，你当然也有同感。我们都知道你心里想的是梅。” “我永远都想着梅，”年轻人回答说，他站起来准备中断这场交谈。 他本想抓住与韦兰太太私下交谈的机会，劝说她把他的结婚日期提前，但他想不出可以打动她的理由。见韦兰先生与梅乘车到了门口，他不觉松了一口气。 他惟一的希望就是再次恳求梅。在他动身的前一天，他与她到西班牙传教馆荒废的花园里散步，这儿的背景使人联想起欧洲的景观。梅戴的宽边草帽给她那双过分明澈的眼睛蒙上一层神秘的阴影，使她显得异常可爱。他讲到格拉纳达与阿尔罕布拉时，她兴奋得两眼灼灼发光。 “我们本来今年春天就可以见到这一切了——甚至可以看到塞维利亚的复活节庆典，”他强调说，夸大其辞地阐述他的请求，以期得到她更大的让步。 “塞维利亚的复活节？下个星期就是四句节了！”她笑了一声说。 “我们干吗不可以在四旬节结婚呢？”他回答；但她看样子十分震惊，使他认识到了自己的错误。 “当然，我并不是真想四句节结婚，亲爱的；而是想在复活节后不久——这样我们可以在四月底扬帆航行。我知道我能在事务所做好安排。” 对于这种可能，她像做梦般露出了笑容。但他看得出，梦想一番她就满足了。这就像听他大声朗诵他的诗集一样，那些美好的事情在现实生活中是不可能发生的。 “啊，请讲下去，纽兰，我真喜欢你描绘的情景。” “可那情景为什么只能是描绘呢？我们为什么不把它变成现实？” “我们当然会的，亲爱的，到明年，”她慢腾腾地说。 “你不想让它早一些变成现实吗？难道我无法说服你改变主意吗？” 她低下了头，借助帽沿躲开了他的视线。 “我们干吗要在梦中再消磨一年呢？看着我，亲爱的！难道你不明白我多想让你做我的妻子吗？” 一时间她呆着一动不动，然后抬起头看着他，眼中失望的神情一览无余，他不觉松开了搂在她腰间的双手。但她的神色突然变得深不可测。“我不敢肯定自己是否真的明白，”她说。“是否——这是否是因为你没有把握会继续喜欢我呢？” 阿切尔从座位上跳起来。“我的天——也许吧——我不知道，”他勃然大怒地喊道。 梅·韦兰也站了起来，他们俩面对面地站着，她那女性的气度与尊严仿佛增强了。两人一时都默然无语，仿佛被他们话语问始料未及的一种倾向给惊呆了。接着，她低声地说：“是不是——是不是还有另外一个人？” “另外一个人——你说你我之间？”他慢腾腾地重复着她的话，仿佛它还不够明了，他需要时间对自己重复一遍这个问题。她似乎捕捉到他话音里的不确定性，语调更加深沉地继续说：“我们坦率地谈谈吧，纽兰。有时候我感觉到你身上有一种变化，尤其是在我们的订婚消息公布之后。” “天哪——你说什么疯话呀！”他清醒过来后喊道。 她以淡淡的笑容回答他的抗议。“如果是那样，我们谈论一下也无妨。”她停了停，又用她那种高尚的动作抬起头来补充说：“或者说，即使真有其事，我们干吗不可以说开呢？你可能轻易地就犯了个错误。” 他低下头，凝视着脚下洒满阳光的小路上黑色的叶形图案。“犯错误是容易的；不过，假如我已经犯了你说的那种错误，我还有可能求你加快我们的婚事吗？” 她也低下了头，用阳伞的尖部打乱了地上的图案，一面费力地斟酌措辞。“是的，”她终于说道。“你可能想——一劳永逸——解决这个问题，这也是一种办法。” 她的镇定清醒令他吃惊，但却并未误使他认为她冷漠无情。他从帽沿底下看到她灰白色的半张脸，坚毅的双唇上方的鼻孔在微微抖动。 “是吗——？”他问道，一面又坐到凳子上，抬头看着她，并努力装出开玩笑的样子皱起眉头。 她坐回座位上接着说：“你可不要认为一位姑娘像她父母想象得那样无知，人家有耳朵，有眼睛——有自己的感情和思想。当然，在你说喜欢我很久以前，我就知道你对另一个人感兴趣；两年前，纽波特人人都议论那件事。有一次在舞会上我还见到过你们一起坐在阳台上——她回到屋里时脸色很悲伤，我为她感到难过。后来我们订婚时我还记得。” 她的声音低沉下去，几乎变成了喃喃自语，坐在那儿，两手一会握住、一会又松开阳伞的把手。年轻人把手放在她的手上，轻轻按了一下；他的心放松下来，感到一种说不出的宽慰。 “我亲爱的——你说的是那件事呀！你要知道真情就好了！” 她迅速抬起头来。“这么说，还有一段真情我不知道？” 他仍然按着她的手说：“我是说，你讲的那段往事的真情。” “可我就是想知道真情，纽兰——我应当了解。我不能把我的幸福建立在对别人的侵害——对别人的不公平上。而且我要确认，你也是这种看法。否则，在那样的基础上，我们能建立一种什么样的生活呢？” 她脸上呈现出一副十分悲壮的神色，使他直想拜倒在她的脚下。“我想说这件事想了很久了，”她接着说。“我一直想告诉你，只要两个人真心相爱，我认为在某些情况下，即使他们的做法会——会违背公众舆论，那也可能是对的。假如你觉得对……对所说的那人有任何许诺的话……假如有什么办法……你能够履行你的诺言……甚至通过让她离婚……纽兰，你不要因为我而抛弃她！” 发现她的担心原来贯注在他与索利·拉什沃斯太太完全属于过去的一段已经很遥远的桃色事件上，他竟顾不得惊讶，反而对她的慷慨大度大为叹服。这种置传统全然不顾的态度表现出一种超乎寻常的东西，若不是其他问题压着他，他会沉缅于惊异之中，对韦兰夫妇的女儿敦促他与以前的情妇结婚的奇事细细品味了。然而他仍然被他们刚刚避开的险情弄得头晕目眩，并且对年轻姑娘的神秘性充满一种新的敬畏。 一时间他竟无从开口；后来他说：“根本没有你想的那种诺言——没有任何义务。这种事情并不总是——出现得像……那么简单……不过没关系……我喜欢你的宽宏大度，因为对这类事情，我跟你的看法一样……我觉得对每一种情况都要分别对待，分清是非曲直……不管愚蠢的习俗怎样……我是说，每个女人都有权得到自由——”他急忙止住自己，为他思绪的转折吃了一惊。他笑脸看着她，接下去说：“亲爱的，既然你明白这么多事，那么你不能再前进一步，明白我们顺从同样愚蠢的习俗的另一种形式是没有意义的吗？如果没有人插在我们中间，我们没有任何芥蒂，那么，我们争来争去不就是为了快一点儿结婚、还是再拖一拖的问题吗？” 她高兴得涨红了脸，抬头望着他，他低下头，发现她两眼充满了幸福的泪水。不过一会功夫，她那女性的权威好像又退缩成胆小无助的小姑娘气了。他知道她的勇气与主动精神都是为别人而发的，轮到她自己，却荡然无存了。显然，为了讲那番话所做的努力远比她表面的镇静所表现的要大。一听到他的安慰话，她便恢复了正常，就像一个冒险过度的孩子回到母亲怀抱中寻求庇护一样。 阿切尔已无心再恳求她，那位新人的消失太令他失望，她那双明澈的眼睛给了他深沉的一瞥便转瞬即逝了。梅似乎觉察到他的失望，但却不知如何抚慰他。他们站起来，默默无语地走回家去。

Chapter 17

Your cousin the Countess called on mother while you were away," JaneyArcher announced to her brother on the evening of his return. The young man, who was dining alone with his mother and sister,glanced up in surprise and saw Mrs. Archer's gaze demurely bent on herplate. Mrs. Archer did not regard her seclusion from the world as areason for being forgotten by it; and Newland guessed that she wasslightly annoyed that he should be surprised by Madame Olenska's visit. "She had on a black velvet polonaise with jet buttons, and a tinygreen monkey muff; I never saw her so stylishly dressed," Janeycontinued. "She came alone, early on Sunday afternoon; luckily the firewas lit in the drawing-room. She had one of those new card- cases. Shesaid she wanted to know us because you'd been so good to her." Newland laughed. "Madame Olenska always takes that tone about herfriends. She's very happy at being among her own people again." "Yes, so she told us," said Mrs. Archer. "I must say she seems thankful to be here." "I hope you liked her, mother." Mrs. Archer drew her lips together. "She certainly lays herself out to please, even when she is calling on an old lady." "Mother doesn't think her simple," Janey interjected, her eyes screwed upon her brother's face. "It's just my old-fashioned feeling; dear May is my ideal," said Mrs. Archer. "Ah," said her son, "they're not alike." Archer had left St. Augustine charged with many messages for old Mrs.Mingott; and a day or two after his return to town he called on her. The old lady received him with unusual warmth; she was grateful tohim for persuading the Countess Olenska to give up the idea of adivorce; and when he told her that he had deserted the office withoutleave, and rushed down to St. Augustine simply because he wanted to seeMay, she gave an adipose chuckle and patted his knee with her puff-ballhand. "Ah, ah--so you kicked over the traces, did you? And I supposeAugusta and Welland pulled long faces, and behaved as if the end of theworld had come? But little May--she knew better, I'll be bound?" "I hoped she did; but after all she wouldn't agree to what I'd gone down to ask for." "Wouldn't she indeed? And what was that?" "I wanted to get her to promise that we should be married in April. What's the use of our wasting another year?" Mrs. Manson Mingott screwed up her little mouth into a grimace ofmimic prudery and twinkled at him through malicious lids. "`Ask Mamma,' Isuppose-- the usual story. Ah, these Mingotts--all alike! Born in arut, and you can't root 'em out of it. When I built this house you'dhave thought I was moving to California! Nobody ever HAD built aboveFortieth Street--no, says I, nor above the Battery either, beforeChristopher Columbus discovered America. No, no; not one of them wantsto be different; they're as scared of it as the small-pox. Ah, my dearMr. Archer, I thank my stars I'm nothing but a vulgar Spicer; butthere's not one of my own children that takes after me but my littleEllen." She broke off, still twinkling at him, and asked, with thecasual irrelevance of old age: "Now, why in the world didn't you marrymy little Ellen?" Archer laughed. "For one thing, she wasn't there to be married." "No--to be sure; more's the pity. And now it's too late; her life isfinished." She spoke with the cold- blooded complacency of the agedthrowing earth into the grave of young hopes. The young man's heart grewchill, and he said hurriedly: "Can't I persuade you to use yourinfluence with the Wellands, Mrs. Mingott? I wasn't made for longengagements." Old Catherine beamed on him approvingly. "No; I can see that. You'vegot a quick eye. When you were a little boy I've no doubt you liked tobe helped first." She threw back her head with a laugh that made herchins ripple like little waves. "Ah, here's my Ellen now!" sheexclaimed, as the portieres parted behind her. Madame Olenska came forward with a smile. Her face looked vivid andhappy, and she held out her hand gaily to Archer while she stooped toher grandmother's kiss. "I was just saying to him, my dear: `Now, why didn't you marry my little Ellen?'" Madame Olenska looked at Archer, still smiling. "And what did he answer?" "Oh, my darling, I leave you to find that out! He's been down to Florida to see his sweetheart." "Yes, I know." She still looked at him. "I went to see your mother,to ask where you'd gone. I sent a note that you never answered, and Iwas afraid you were ill." He muttered something about leaving unexpectedly, in a great hurry, and having intended to write to her from St. Augustine. "And of course once you were there you never thought of me again!"She continued to beam on him with a gaiety that might have been astudied assumption of indifference. "If she still needs me, she's determined not to let me see it," hethought, stung by her manner. He wanted to thank her for having been tosee his mother, but under the ancestress's malicious eye he felt himselftongue- tied and constrained. "Look at him--in such hot haste to get married that he took Frenchleave and rushed down to implore the silly girl on his knees! That'ssomething like a lover-- that's the way handsome Bob Spicer carried offmy poor mother; and then got tired of her before I was weaned--thoughthey only had to wait eight months for me! But there--you're not aSpicer, young man; luckily for you and for May. It's only my poor Ellenthat has kept any of their wicked blood; the rest of them are all modelMingotts," cried the old lady scornfully. Archer was aware that Madame Olenska, who had seated herself at hergrandmother's side, was still thoughtfully scrutinising him. The gaietyhad faded from her eyes, and she said with great gentleness: "Surely,Granny, we can persuade them between us to do as he wishes." Archer rose to go, and as his hand met Madame Olenska's he felt thatshe was waiting for him to make some allusion to her unanswered letter. "When can I see you?" he asked, as she walked with him to the door of the room. "Whenever you like; but it must be soon if you want to see the little house again. I am moving next week." A pang shot through him at the memory of his lamplit hours in thelow-studded drawing-room. Few as they had been, they were thick withmemories. "Tomorrow evening?" She nodded. "Tomorrow; yes; but early. I'm going out." The next day was a Sunday, and if she were "going out" on a Sundayevening it could, of course, be only to Mrs. Lemuel Struthers's. He felta slight movement of annoyance, not so much at her going there (for herather liked her going where she pleased in spite of the van derLuydens), but because it was the kind of house at which she was sure tomeet Beaufort, where she must have known beforehand that she would meethim--and where she was probably going for that purpose. "Very well; tomorrow evening," he repeated, inwardly resolved that hewould not go early, and that by reaching her door late he would eitherprevent her from going to Mrs. Struthers's, or else arrive after she hadstarted--which, all things considered, would no doubt be the simplestsolution. It was only half-past eight, after all, when he rang the bell underthe wisteria; not as late as he had intended by half an hour--but asingular restlessness had driven him to her door. He reflected, however,that Mrs. Struthers's Sunday evenings were not like a ball, and thather guests, as if to minimise their delinquency, usually went early. The one thing he had not counted on, in entering Madame Olenska'shall, was to find hats and overcoats there. Why had she bidden him tocome early if she was having people to dine? On a closer inspection ofthe garments besides which Nastasia was laying his own, his resentmentgave way to curiosity. The overcoats were in fact the very strangest hehad ever seen under a polite roof; and it took but a glance to assurehimself that neither of them belonged to Julius Beaufort. One was ashaggy yellow ulster of "reach-me- down" cut, the other a very old andrusty cloak with a cape--something like what the French called a"Macfarlane." This garment, which appeared to be made for a person ofprodigious size, had evidently seen long and hard wear, and itsgreenish-black folds gave out a moist sawdusty smell suggestive ofprolonged sessions against bar-room walls. On it lay a ragged grey scarfand an odd felt hat of semiclerical shape. Archer raised his eyebrows enquiringly at Nastasia, who raised hersin return with a fatalistic "Gia!" as she threw open the drawing-roomdoor. The young man saw at once that his hostess was not in the room; then,with surprise, he discovered another lady standing by the fire. Thislady, who was long, lean and loosely put together, was clad in raimentintricately looped and fringed, with plaids and stripes and bands ofplain colour disposed in a design to which the clue seemed missing. Herhair, which had tried to turn white and only succeeded in fading, wassurmounted by a Spanish comb and black lace scarf, and silk mittens,visibly darned, covered her rheumatic hands. Beside her, in a cloud of cigar-smoke, stood the owners of the twoovercoats, both in morning clothes that they had evidently not taken offsince morning. In one of the two, Archer, to his surprise, recognisedNed Winsett; the other and older, who was unknown to him, and whosegigantic frame declared him to be the wearer of the "Macfarlane," had afeebly leonine head with crumpled grey hair, and moved his arms withlarge pawing gestures, as though he were distributing lay blessings to akneeling multitude. These three persons stood together on the hearth- rug, their eyesfixed on an extraordinarily large bouquet of crimson roses, with a knotof purple pansies at their base, that lay on the sofa where MadameOlenska usually sat. "What they must have cost at this season--though of course it's thesentiment one cares about!" the lady was saying in a sighing staccato asArcher came in. The three turned with surprise at his appearance, and the lady, advancing, held out her hand. "Dear Mr. Archer--almost my cousin Newland!" she said. "I am the Marchioness Manson." Archer bowed, and she continued: "My Ellen has taken me in for a fewdays. I came from Cuba, where I have been spending the winter withSpanish friends-- such delightful distinguished people: the highestnobility of old Castile--how I wish you could know them! But I wascalled away by our dear great friend here, Dr. Carver. You don't knowDr. Agathon Carver, founder of the Valley of Love Community?" Dr. Carver inclined his leonine head, and the Marchioness continued:"Ah, New York--New York--how little the life of the spirit has reachedit! But I see you do know Mr. Winsett." "Oh, yes--I reached him some time ago; but not by that route," Winsett said with his dry smile. The Marchioness shook her head reprovingly. "How do you know, Mr. Winsett? The spirit bloweth where it listeth." "List--oh, list!" interjected Dr. Carver in a stentorian murmur. "But do sit down, Mr. Archer. We four have been having a delightfullittle dinner together, and my child has gone up to dress. She expectsyou; she will be down in a moment. We were just admiring thesemarvellous flowers, which will surprise her when she reappears." Winsett remained on his feet. "I'm afraid I must be off. Please tellMadame Olenska that we shall all feel lost when she abandons our street.This house has been an oasis." "Ah, but she won't abandon YOU. Poetry and art are the breath of life to her. It IS poetry you write, Mr. Winsett?" "Well, no; but I sometimes read it," said Winsett, including the group in a general nod and slipping out of the room. "A caustic spirit--un peu sauvage. But so witty; Dr. Carver, you DO think him witty?" "I never think of wit," said Dr. Carver severely. "Ah--ah--you never think of wit! How merciless he is to us weakmortals, Mr. Archer! But he lives only in the life of the spirit; andtonight he is mentally preparing the lecture he is to deliver presentlyat Mrs. Blenker's. Dr. Carver, would there be time, before you start forthe Blenkers' to explain to Mr. Archer your illuminating discovery ofthe Direct Contact? But no; I see it is nearly nine o'clock, and we haveno right to detain you while so many are waiting for your message." Dr. Carver looked slightly disappointed at this conclusion, but,having compared his ponderous gold time- piece with Madame Olenska'slittle travelling-clock, he reluctantly gathered up his mighty limbs fordeparture. "I shall see you later, dear friend?" he suggested to theMarchioness, who replied with a smile: "As soon as Ellen's carriagecomes I will join you; I do hope the lecture won't have begun." Dr. Carver looked thoughtfully at Archer. "Perhaps, if this younggentleman is interested in my experiences, Mrs. Blenker might allow youto bring him with you?" "Oh, dear friend, if it were possible--I am sure she would be too happy. But I fear my Ellen counts on Mr. Archer herself." "That," said Dr. Carver, "is unfortunate--but here is my card." He handed it to Archer, who read on it, in Gothic characters: |---------------------------| | Agathon Carter | | The Valley of Love | | Kittasquattamy, N. Y. | |---------------------------| Dr. Carver bowed himself out, and Mrs. Manson, with a sigh that mighthave been either of regret or relief, again waved Archer to a seat. "Ellen will be down in a moment; and before she comes, I am so glad of this quiet moment with you." Archer murmured his pleasure at their meeting, and the Marchionesscontinued, in her low sighing accents: "I know everything, dear Mr.Archer--my child has told me all you have done for her. Your wiseadvice: your courageous firmness--thank heaven it was not too late!" The young man listened with considerable embarrassment. Was there anyone, he wondered, to whom Madame Olenska had not proclaimed hisintervention in her private affairs? "Madame Olenska exaggerates; I simply gave her a legal opinion, as she asked me to." "Ah, but in doing it--in doing it you were the unconscious instrumentof--of--what word have we moderns for Providence, Mr. Archer?" criedthe lady, tilting her head on one side and drooping her lidsmysteriously. "Little did you know that at that very moment I was beingappealed to: being approached, in fact--from the other side of theAtlantic!" She glanced over her shoulder, as though fearful of being overheard,and then, drawing her chair nearer, and raising a tiny ivory fan to herlips, breathed behind it: "By the Count himself--my poor, mad, foolishOlenski; who asks only to take her back on her own terms." "Good God!" Archer exclaimed, springing up. "You are horrified? Yes, of course; I understand. I don't defend poorStanislas, though he has always called me his best friend. He does notdefend himself--he casts himself at her feet: in my person." She tappedher emaciated bosom. "I have his letter here." "A letter?--Has Madame Olenska seen it?" Archer stammered, his brain whirling with the shock of the announcement. The Marchioness Manson shook her head softly. "Time--time; I musthave time. I know my Ellen-- haughty, intractable; shall I say, just ashade unforgiving?" "But, good heavens, to forgive is one thing; to go back into that hell--" "Ah, yes," the Marchioness acquiesced. "So she describes it--mysensitive child! But on the material side, Mr. Archer, if one may stoopto consider such things; do you know what she is giving up? Those rosesthere on the sofa--acres like them, under glass and in the open, in hismatchless terraced gardens at Nice! Jewels-- historic pearls: theSobieski emeralds--sables,--but she cares nothing for all these! Art andbeauty, those she does care for, she lives for, as I always have; andthose also surrounded her. Pictures, priceless furniture, music,brilliant conversation--ah, that, my dear young man, if you'll excuseme, is what you've no conception of here! And she had it all; and thehomage of the greatest. She tells me she is not thought handsome in NewYork--good heavens! Her portrait has been painted nine times; thegreatest artists in Europe have begged for the privilege. Are thesethings nothing? And the remorse of an adoring husband?" As the Marchioness Manson rose to her climax her face assumed anexpression of ecstatic retrospection which would have moved Archer'smirth had he not been numb with amazement. He would have laughed if any one had foretold to him that his firstsight of poor Medora Manson would have been in the guise of a messengerof Satan; but he was in no mood for laughing now, and she seemed to himto come straight out of the hell from which Ellen Olenska had justescaped. "She knows nothing yet--of all this?" he asked abruptly. Mrs. Manson laid a purple finger on her lips. "Nothing directly--butdoes she suspect? Who can tell? The truth is, Mr. Archer, I have beenwaiting to see you. From the moment I heard of the firm stand you hadtaken, and of your influence over her, I hoped it might be possible tocount on your support--to convince you . . ." "That she ought to go back? I would rather see her dead!" cried the young man violently. "Ah," the Marchioness murmured, without visible resentment. For awhile she sat in her arm-chair, opening and shutting the absurd ivoryfan between her mittened fingers; but suddenly she lifted her head andlistened. "Here she comes," she said in a rapid whisper; and then, pointing tothe bouquet on the sofa: "Am I to understand that you prefer THAT, Mr.Archer? After all, marriage is marriage . . . and my niece is still awife. . .

“你不在家的时候，你表姊伯爵夫人来看过妈妈了，”在他回家的那天傍晚，詹尼·阿切尔说。 年轻人正与母亲、妹妹一起吃晚饭，他意外地抬头瞥了一眼，只见阿切尔太太正目光严肃地低头用餐。阿切尔太太并不认为自己不涉交际就应当被社交界遗忘。纽兰猜想，他对奥兰斯卡夫人的造访感到惊讶，可能使她有点恼火。 “她穿了一件黑丝绒的波兰连衣裙，扣子乌黑发亮，戴着一个小巧的绿色猴皮手筒，我从未见她打扮得这么时髦，”詹尼接下去说。“她单独一个人，星期日下午早早就来了。可巧客厅里生着火。她带了一个那种新的名片盒。她说她想认识我们，因为你对她太好了。” 纽兰笑了起来。“奥兰斯卡夫人说到她的朋友们，总是这样的口吻：她重新回到自己人中间，感到很幸福。” “不错，她对我就是这样讲的，”阿切尔太太说。“我得说，她来到这儿好像很高兴。” “我希望你还喜欢她，母亲。” 阿切尔太太噘起嘴说：“她当然是竭力地取悦于人，即使在她拜访一位老夫人时。” “妈妈认为她并不简单，”詹尼插言道，她眯起两眼，注视着哥哥。 “这只不过是我的老眼光，我觉得亲爱的梅是最理想的，”阿切尔太太说。 “哦，”她儿子说，“她们两个不一样。” 阿切尔离开圣奥古斯丁时受托给明戈特老太太带了很多口信，他回城过了一两天便去拜访她。 老夫人异常热情地接待了他，她感激他说服奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人打消了离婚念头。当他告诉老夫人，他不辞而别离开事务所、匆忙赶到圣奥古斯丁仅仅因为想见一见梅的时候，她抖着肥胖的两腮咯咯笑了起来，并用她那圆鼓鼓的手拍了拍他的膝盖。 “啊哈——这么说你挣脱了缰绳、不守规矩了，是不是？我猜奥古斯塔和韦兰一定是拉长了脸，好像世界末日来临了一样吧？不过小梅——她会理解吧，我肯定？” “我原指望她会；不过到底她还是不同意我跑去提出的要求。” “真的吗？是什么要求？” “我原想让她答应四月份结婚，再浪费一年时间有什么意思？” 曼森·明戈特太太噘起小嘴，装出一本正经的样子，对他不怀好意地眨巴着眼睛说：“‘去问妈妈吧’，我猜——还是老一套的把戏吧。唉，明戈特家这些人呀——全都一样！生就的循规蹈矩，你休想把他们从辙沟里拉出来。当年我建这所宅子时，人们可能以为我要搬到加利福尼亚去呢！从来没有人在40街以外建过——不错，我说，在哥伦布发现美洲之前，还没有人在巴特利以外建过呢。没有，没有，他们没有一个人想与别人不同，都像害怕天花一样避之惟恐不及。唉，我亲爱的阿切尔先生，感谢命运，我只不过是个斯派塞家的粗人，可我自己的孩子们没有一个人像我，除了我的小埃伦。”她停住话头，依然对他眨着眼睛，带着老年人毫不在乎的口气说：“哎，可究竟为什么你没娶我的小埃伦呢？” 阿切尔笑了起来。“首先，她没在那里等着我娶啊。” “不错——当然；可惜啊。可现在已经太晚了；她这一辈子算完了。”她的口气里带着一种白发人送黑发人的冷酷自得。年轻人不觉有些寒心，他急忙说：“明戈特太太，请你对韦兰夫妇施加点儿影响好吗？我可不喜欢漫长的订婚期。” 老凯瑟琳赞同地向他露出笑脸。“是啊，我看得出来。你眼睛可真尖，当你还是个小男孩时，我就看出你喜欢首先让别人帮你忙。”她头向后一仰笑了起来，这使她的下巴颏生出了层层细浪。“啊，我的埃伦来喽！”她喊道。这时，她身后的门帘开了。 奥兰斯卡夫人笑盈盈地走上前来。她脸上喜气洋洋，一面弯腰接受祖母的亲吻，一面高兴地向阿切尔伸出一只手。 “亲爱的，我刚刚才对他说：‘哎，你干吗没娶我的小埃伦？’” 奥兰斯卡夫人依然面带微笑看着阿切尔说：“他是怎样回答的呢？” “咳，宝贝，留给你自己猜吧！他刚到佛罗里达去看过他的心上人。” “是啊，我知道，”她仍然看着他说。“我去看过你母亲，问你到哪儿去了。我给你去过一封信，你一直没回音，我还以为你生病了呢。” 他咕哝着说走得很突然，很匆忙，本打算从圣奥古斯丁给她写信来着。 “当然，你一到了那儿就再也想不起我了！”她依旧对他微笑着，那副快乐的神情很可能是故意装作毫不在乎。 “如果她还需要我，那她一定是不想让我看出来，”他心想，被她那副样子给刺痛了。他想感谢她去看他母亲，但在老祖母不怀好意的目光底下，他觉得自己好像给扎住了舌头，张不开口了。 “你瞧他——这么急于结婚，未经批准就悄悄开溜！匆匆跑去跪在那个傻丫头面前哀求！这才有点儿恋人味呢——漂亮的鲍勃·斯派塞就是这样子拐走我可怜的母亲的，后来，我还没有断奶他就厌倦了她——尽管他们只须为我再等8个月！可是对了——你可不是个斯派塞，年轻人；这对你、对梅都是件幸事。只有我可怜的埃伦才有一点儿他们家的坏血统；其他人全都是典型的明戈特家的，”老夫人轻蔑地喊道。 阿切尔觉察到，已坐在祖母身边的奥兰斯卡夫人仍然沉思地打量着他，喜悦从她目光里消失了。她十分温柔地说：“当然啦，奶奶，我们俩一定能说服他们照他的心意办。” 阿切尔起身告辞，当他的手接住奥兰斯卡夫人伸来的手时，他觉得她好像等着他提示一下那封未回复的信的事。 “我什么时候可以去见你？”她陪他走到屋门口时他问道。 “什么时间都行，不过你若想再看看那所小房子，可一定得早点儿，下星期我就要搬家了。” 回想起在那间低矮客厅的灯光下度过的那几个小时，他心中一阵痛楚。尽管那只是短短几个小时，但却令人难忘。 “明晚怎么样？” 她点了点头。“明天，好吧；不过要早些，我还要外出。” 第二天是星期日，假如她星期日晚上“外出”，当然只能是去莱姆尔·斯特拉瑟斯太太家。他感到有点厌烦，这倒不是为了她到那儿去（因为他倒喜欢她乐意去哪儿就去哪儿，而不顾忌范德卢顿夫妇），而是因为她去那家肯定会遇见博福特，她事先肯定知道会遇见他——可能就是为这一目的才去吧。 “很好，明天晚上，”他重复道，心里却决定不早去，他晚点儿到，要么可以阻止她去斯特拉瑟斯太太家，要么在她出门后再到——那样，通盘考虑，无疑是最干脆的办法。 当他拉动紫藤底下的门铃时，时间也不过才8点半钟，他没有按原先的打算拖后半个小时——一种特别的不安驱使他来到她的门前。不过他想，斯特拉瑟斯家的星期日晚会不同于舞会，客人们似乎会尽可能克服懒散，一般去得较早。 他事先没有算计到的是，走进奥兰斯卡夫人的门厅，竟发现那里有几顶帽子和几件外套。如果她请人吃饭，为什么还让他早些来呢？当娜斯塔西娅摆放他的大衣时，他对旁边那几件衣物做了进一步观察，这时，他的好奇心代替了烦恼。那几件外套实际上是他在讲斯文的住宅中见到的最古怪的东西。他一眼就断定其中没有一件是属于朱利叶斯·博福特的。有一件廉价的黄色毛绒粗呢大衣，另一件是褪色的破旧斗篷，还带一个披肩——类似法国人所说的“披肩斗篷”。这外套看样子是专为一位身材特别高大的人做的，显然穿了很久，已经很旧，表面黑绿色的褶缝里散发出一种湿木屑的气味，使人联想到是倚靠在酒吧墙壁上时间太久了的缘故，上面摆了一条皱巴巴的灰领带和一顶有点儿像牧师戴的那种古怪的软帽。 阿切尔抬眼询问地看看娜斯塔西娅，她也抬头看着他，并满不在乎地随口喊了声“去啊”，推开了客厅的门。 年轻人立刻发现女主人没在屋里，接着很意外地见到另一位夫人站在炉火旁边。这位夫人又瘦又高，一副懒散的样子。她穿的衣服又加环又带穗，显得很复杂，单色的方格、长条与镶边交织在一起，其图案让人不得要领。她的头发一度要变白，但结果仅仅是失去了光泽而已，上面戴着个西班牙发梳和一条黑花边的头巾，明显打了补丁的露指丝手套盖着她那双害风湿病的手。 在她旁边，一团雪茄烟云中站着那两件外套的所有人，两位都身穿常礼服，显然从早晨就一直没有换过。阿切尔意外地发现，其中一位竟是内德·温塞特先生，另一位年纪大些的他不认识，他那庞大的身架说明他是那件“披肩斗篷”的所有者，其人长着个虚弱无力的狮子脑袋，一头篷乱的灰发，他挥动着胳膊像要抓东西的样子，仿佛在为一群跪倒的会众做俗民祝福。 那三个人一块儿站在炉前的地毯上，眼睛紧盯着一束特大的深红色玫瑰花，花束底层是一簇紫罗兰，摆在奥兰斯卡夫人平时就坐的沙发上。 “这些花在这时节得花多少钱啊——虽然人们注重的当然是感情！”阿切尔进屋时，那位夫人正断断续续地感慨说。 一见到他，三个人都惊讶地转过身来，那位夫人走上前来，伸出了手。 “亲爱的阿切尔先生——差不多是我的侄子纽兰！”她说。“我是曼森侯爵夫人。” 阿切尔低头行礼。她接下去说：“我的埃伦把我接来住几天。我从古巴来，一直在那儿过冬天，和西班牙朋友一起——一些非常可爱的高贵人物：卡斯提尔最有身份的贵族——我多希望你能认识他们啊！不过我被这儿的高贵朋友卡弗博士召唤来了。你不认识‘幽谷爱社’的创办人卡弗博士吧？” 卡弗博士低了低他那狮子脑袋，侯爵夫人继续说道：“咳，纽约啊——纽约，精神生活传到这儿太少了！不过我看你倒是认识温塞特先生的。” “哦，不错——我和他结识有一段时间了，不过不是通过那条途径，”温塞特干笑着说。 侯爵夫人责怪地摇了摇头。“何以见得呢，温塞特先生？精神有所寄，花开必无疑嘛。” “有所寄——啊，有所寄！”卡弗博士大声咕哝着插言道。 “可是请坐呀，阿切尔先生。我们四人刚刚进行了小小的聚餐，我的孩子到楼上梳妆去了，她在等你，一会就下来。我们刚在这儿称赞这些奇异的花，她回来见了一定很吃惊。” 温塞特依旧站着。“恐怕我得走了。请转告奥兰斯卡夫人，她抛弃这条街以后我们都会感到有所失落的，这座房子一直是个绿洲。” “哟，不过她是不会抛弃你的。诗与艺术对她来说是生命的元气。你是写诗的吧，温塞特先生？” “哦，不是，不过我有时候读诗，”温塞特说，一面对大伙儿点了点头，悄悄溜出了客厅。 “一个刻薄的人——有一点儿孤僻，不过很机智。卡弗博士，你也认为他很机智吧？” “我从来不考虑机智不机智的问题，”卡弗博士严厉地说。 “哎——哟——你从不考虑！他对我们这些居弱的凡人多么冷酷啊，阿切尔先生！不过他过的只是精神生活，而今晚他正在为马上要在布兰克太太家作的讲演做精神准备。卡弗博士，在你动身去布兰克太太家之前，还有时间向阿切尔先生说明一下你对‘直接交往’的光辉发现吗？可是不行，我知道快9点了，我们没有权力再留你，因为有那么多人在等着你的启迪呢。” 卡弗博士对这一结论似乎有点儿失望，不过他把那块笨重的金表与奥兰斯卡夫人的小旅行钟对过之后，便不情愿地收拢粗大的躯体，准备动身了。 “过一会儿你去吗，亲爱的朋友？”他向侯爵夫人提醒道，她嫣然一笑回答说：“埃伦的马车一到我就去找你；我真希望那时讲演还没开始。” 卡弗博士若有所思地看了看阿切尔。“假如这位年轻绅士对我的经验有兴趣，布兰克太太会允许你带他一起来吧？” “哦，亲爱的朋友，如果有可能——我相信她会很高兴。不过怕是我的埃伦还等着他呢。” 卡弗博士说：“这太不幸了——不过这是我的名片。”他把名片递给阿切尔，他见上面用哥特式字体写道： 阿加顿·卡弗 幽谷爱社 基塔斯夸塔密，纽约 卡弗博士欠身告辞。曼森太太不是惋惜便是宽慰地叹了口气，又一次示意阿切尔坐下。 “埃伦马上就下来了，她来之前，我很高兴能安静地和你待一会儿。” 阿切尔嗫嚅说与她相见很高兴，侯爵夫人接着低声叹息说：“我全都知道，亲爱的阿切尔先生——我的孩子把你对她的帮助全告诉我了：你的英明的劝告，你的勇敢与坚强——感谢上帝事情还不算太迟！” 年轻人相当尴尬地听着，不知他干预她私事的事，奥兰斯卡夫人还有没有人没通知到。 “奥兰斯卡夫人夸大其辞了。我只不过接她的要求向她提出了法律上的意见。” “哎，可是这样——这样你就不知不觉地代表了——代表了——我们现代人称作‘大意’的那个词叫什么来，阿切尔先生？”夫人大声地问道，一面把头歪向一边，神秘地垂下了眼睑。“你有所不知，就在那个时候也有人在向我求助：实际上是找我疏通——从大西洋彼岸来的！” 她从肩膀上向后瞥了一眼，仿佛怕被人听见似的，然后把椅子拉近一点儿，将一把小象牙扇子举到嘴边，挡在后面呼吸。“是伯爵本人——那个可怜的、发疯的傻瓜奥兰斯基；他只要求能把她弄回去，她提的条件他全部接受。” “我的老天！”阿切尔喊道，他跳了起来。 “你吓坏了？是啊，当然，这我明白。我不替可怜的斯坦尼斯拉斯辩解，虽然他一直把我当成最好的朋友，他并不为自己辩护——他跪倒在她的脚下：我亲眼看见的，”她拍着瘦削的胸膛说。“我这里有他的信。” “信？——奥兰斯卡夫人看过了吗？”阿切尔结巴地问，受到这消息的震动，他的头脑有些发昏。 侯爵夫人轻轻摇了摇头。“时间——时间，我必须有时间才行。我了解我的埃伦——傲慢，倔强。我可不可以说，她有点儿不宽容？” “可老天爷，宽容是一回事，而回到那个地狱——” “啊，对，”侯爵夫人赞同地说。“她也这样讲——我那敏感的孩子！不过，在物质方面，阿切尔先生，如果你可以屈尊考虑一下，你知道她打算放弃的是什么吗？瞧沙发上那些玫瑰——在他那无与伦比的尼斯台地花园里有几英亩这样的花，种在暖房里和露天里。还有珠宝——有历史价值的珍珠：索比埃斯基国王的祖母绿——紫貂皮——但她对这些东西一点都不在意！艺术和美，这才是她喜欢的，她活着就为了这，就像我一贯那样；而这些东西也一直包围着她。绘画、价值连城的家具、音乐、聪敏的谈话——啊，请原谅，亲爱的年轻人——这些东西你们这儿根本不懂！而她却全都拥有，并得到最崇高的敬意。她对我讲，在纽约人们认为她不漂亮——老天爷！她的像被画过9次，欧洲最伟大的画家恳求她赐给他们这种恩惠。难道这些事情都无足轻重吗？还有崇拜她的那位丈夫的悔恨呢？” 曼森侯爵夫人进入高潮的时候，她脸上的表情也因回忆往事而变得如痴如醉，若不是阿切尔先已经惊呆了，准会把他给逗乐。 假若有谁事先告诉他，他第一次见到的可怜的梅多拉·曼森会是一副撒旦使者的面孔，他会放声大笑的，可现在他却没有心情去笑了。他觉得她好像是直接从埃伦·奥兰斯卡刚刚逃脱的那个地狱里来的。 “她对这一切还——一无所知吧？”他突然问道。 曼森夫人把一根紫色的手指放在嘴上。“她没有直接的了解——可她是不是有所猜测？谁知道呢？事实上，阿切尔先生，我一直等着见你，从我听说你采取的坚定立场以及对她的影响之后，我希望有可能得到你的支持——让你确信……” “你是说她应该回去？我宁愿看她去死！”年轻人激愤地喊道。 “啊，”侯爵夫人低声道，口气里并没有明显的怨恨。她在扶手椅里坐了一会儿，用她戴了露指手套的手反复开合那把古怪的象牙扇子。突然，她抬起头来倾听着。 “她来了，”她急促地小声说。然后指指沙发上的花束说：“我能指望你赞成这件事吗，阿切尔先生？婚姻毕竟是婚姻嘛……我侄女仍然是个妻子……”