《理智与情感-Sense and Sensibility》中英文对照 余一章QAQ_派派后花园

用户中心 游戏论坛 社区服务
发帖 回复
正序阅读 最近浏览的帖子最近浏览的版块
« 返回列表
阅读：4323 回复：51

[Novel] 《理智与情感-Sense and Sensibility》中英文对照 余一章QAQ

 刷新数据 楼层直达
narcis

ZxID：9184039

763474鲜花 75鸡蛋

等级: 派派版主
一二三四五六七~~~
举报 只看楼主 使用道具 楼主   发表于: 2013-10-26 0
《理智与情感-Sense and Sensibility》中英文对照 余一章QAQ
[align=center][table=80%,#5D7397,#5D7397,1][tr][td][size=1][/size][/td][/tr][/table][/align][align=center][table=66%,#5D7397,#5D7397,1][tr][td][align=center][table=99%,#ffffff,#ffffff,15][tr][td][color=#5D7397][align=center][attachment=11781534][/align]
[align=center][b][size=5]Sense and Sensibility
理智与情感[/size][/b] [/align]

[align=right]Jane Austen   简·奥斯汀 [/align]                        

[b]内容推荐[/b]
　　美国文学评论巨匠爱德蒙·威尔逊说：“在英国文学近一又四分之一世纪的历史上，曾发生过几次趣味的革命，惟独莎士比亚和简-奥斯汀经久不衰。”
　　本书为奥斯汀处女作。
　　埃莉诺和玛丽安两姐妹生在一个体面的英国乡绅家庭，姐姐善于用理智来控制情感，妹妹却往往在情感上毫无节制，因此在恋爱中碰到挫折时，她们作出了不同的反应：姐姐忍辱负重，始终与人为善；妹妹心高气傲，几近崩溃……与主人公命运情牵相关的闲得发慌的乡绅太太，势利无情的兄嫂一家，市侩虚伪的远房姐妹，以及少女心中那三位或道德败坏或正直优柔的恋人悉数登场。全书以喜剧开头，悲剧发展，终以喜剧收场，是一则以细腻笔触和生动对白见长、讲述没有富裕嫁妆的少女婚恋的经典故事。

[b]作者简介[/b]
　　简·奥斯汀（Jane Austen，1775年12月16日－1817年7月18日），19世纪英国小说家，世界文学史上最具影响力的女性文学家之一，她的作品主要关注乡绅家庭女性的婚姻和生活，以女性特有的细致入微的观察力和活泼风趣的文字真实地描绘了她周围世界的小天地。她在英国文学中的地位也随时间的过去而日益显得重要，以致有批评家认为她可以和莎士比亚相媲美。
　　奥斯汀生于乡村小镇斯蒂文顿，有6个兄弟和一个姐姐，家境尚可。父亲乔治·奥斯汀（George Austen，1731年—1805年）是当地一名牧师。母亲卡桑德拉（1739年—1827年）。奥斯汀没有上过正规学校，但受到较好的家庭教育，主要教材就是父亲的文学藏书。奥斯汀一家爱读流行小说，多半是庸俗的消遣品。她少女时期的习作就是对这类流行小说的滑稽模仿，这样就形成了她作品中嘲讽的基调。她20岁左右开始写作，共发表了6部长篇小说。1811年出版的《理智与情感》是她的处女作，随后又接连发表了《傲慢与偏见》（1813）、《曼斯菲尔德花园》（1814）和《爱玛》（1815）。《诺桑觉寺》（又名《诺桑觉修道院》）和《劝导》（1818）是在她去世后第二年发表的，并署上了作者真名。
　　简·奥斯汀一生未嫁。1796年，她与后来成为爱尔兰最高法官的汤姆·勒弗罗伊（Tom Lefroy）有过短暂的罗曼史，据传他就是《傲慢与偏见》中达西先生的原型。1802年，一名比奥斯汀小六岁的富有男子哈里斯·彼格威瑟（Harris Bigg-Wither）向她求婚。奥斯汀最初接受了，次日又改变主意拒绝了他。
　　1801年，奥斯汀的父亲退休后，全家迁居到疗养胜地巴斯。就像笔下的女主人公安妮·艾略特一样，奥斯汀并不喜欢巴斯，这也许与她家庭经济状况日趋拮据有关。
　　1805年父亲去世后，奥斯汀跟随母亲和姐姐到南安普敦与兄长弗兰克住了几年。1809年又移居查顿（Chawton）投奔兄长爱德华。那里的小屋现在是奥斯汀纪念馆，成为了著名的旅游景点。奥斯汀后期的作品就是在那里写作的。
　　1816年，奥斯汀的健康状况恶化，她于1817年搬到温彻斯特疗养，并于同年7月病逝。葬在温彻斯特大教堂。
　　奥斯汀兄弟中詹姆斯和亨利后来也从事神职，弗朗西斯和查尔斯则成供职英国海军。珍与她的姐姐卡桑德拉关系密切，她们之间的信件为后世奥斯汀研究提供了很多素材。卡桑德拉为简·奥斯汀所作的画像目前保存在伦敦的国家肖像馆内。
      2000年，BBC做过一个“千年作家评选”活动，结果奥斯丁紧随莎士比亚之后，排名第二，而且，她是前十位里唯一的女性作家。这位女性堪称英国之骄傲。她创造出了一大批的人物，开启了19世纪30年代的现实主义小说高潮。
   [/color] [/td][/tr][/table][/align]
[align=center][table=99%,#ffffff,#ffffff,15][tr][td][color=#5D7397]
[b]碎碎念=。=[/b]
      我已经不知道这个版本是谁翻译的了，不过肯定不是这几年新版的就对了，然后这个序是译文武崇汉的那个版本，最后默默地说一句，妹妹不被感情冲毁头脑的时候我比较喜欢妹妹=。=而且我比较喜欢妹妹后来嫁的那个汉子。
   [/color] [/td][/tr][/table][/align][/td][/tr][/table][/align][align=center][table=81%,#5D7397,#5D7397,1][tr][td] [/td][/tr][/table][/align]
[ 此帖被narcis在2013-10-30 04:13重新编辑 ]
本帖最近评分记录： 共 6 条评分 派派币 +55 鲜花 +8
隐藏
收藏 新鲜事

相关主题



回复 引用 新鲜事
顶端
narcis

ZxID：9184039

763474鲜花 75鸡蛋

等级: 派派版主
一二三四五六七~~~
举报 只看该作者 51楼  发表于: 2013-10-31 0
Chapter Fifty

After a proper resistance on the part of Mrs. Ferrars, just so violent and so steady as to preserve her from that reproach which she always seemed fearful of incurring, the reproach of being too amiable, Edward was admitted to her presence, and pronounced to be again her son.

Her family had of late been exceedingly fluctuating. For many years of her life she had had two sons; but the crime and annihilation of Edward a few weeks ago, had robbed her of one; the similar annihilation of Robert had left her for a fortnight without any; and now, by the resuscitation of Edward, she had one again.

In spite of his being allowed once more to live, however, he did not feel the continuance of his existence secure, till he had revealed his present engagement; for the publication of that circumstance, he feared, might give a sudden turn to his constitution, and carry him off as rapidly as before. With apprehensive caution therefore it was revealed, and he was listened to with unexpected calmness. Mrs. Ferrars at first reasonably endeavoured to dissuade him from marrying Miss Dashwood, by every argument in her power;—told him, that in Miss Morton he would have a woman of higher rank and larger fortune;—and enforced the assertion, by observing that Miss Morton was the daughter of a nobleman with thirty thousand pounds, while Miss Dashwood was only the daughter of a private gentleman with no more than THREE; but when she found that, though perfectly admitting the truth of her representation, he was by no means inclined to be guided by it, she judged it wisest, from the experience of the past, to submit—and therefore, after such an ungracious delay as she owed to her own dignity, and as served to prevent every suspicion of good-will, she issued her decree of consent to the marriage of Edward and Elinor.

What she would engage to do towards augmenting their income was next to be considered; and here it plainly appeared, that though Edward was now her only son, he was by no means her eldest; for while Robert was inevitably endowed with a thousand pounds a-year, not the smallest objection was made against Edward's taking orders for the sake of two hundred and fifty at the utmost; nor was anything promised either for the present or in future, beyond the ten thousand pounds, which had been given with Fanny.

It was as much, however, as was desired, and more than was expected, by Edward and Elinor; and Mrs. Ferrars herself, by her shuffling excuses, seemed the only person surprised at her not giving more.

With an income quite sufficient to their wants thus secured to them, they had nothing to wait for after Edward was in possession of the living, but the readiness of the house, to which Colonel Brandon, with an eager desire for the accommodation of Elinor, was making considerable improvements; and after waiting some time for their completion, after experiencing, as usual, a thousand disappointments and delays from the unaccountable dilatoriness of the workmen, Elinor, as usual, broke through the first positive resolution of not marrying till every thing was ready, and the ceremony took place in Barton church early in the autumn.

The first month after their marriage was spent with their friend at the Mansion-house; from whence they could superintend the progress of the Parsonage, and direct every thing as they liked on the spot;—could chuse papers, project shrubberies, and invent a sweep. Mrs. Jennings's prophecies, though rather jumbled together, were chiefly fulfilled; for she was able to visit Edward and his wife in their Parsonage by Michaelmas, and she found in Elinor and her husband, as she really believed, one of the happiest couples in the world. They had in fact nothing to wish for, but the marriage of Colonel Brandon and Marianne, and rather better pasturage for their cows.

They were visited on their first settling by almost all their relations and friends. Mrs. Ferrars came to inspect the happiness which she was almost ashamed of having authorised; and even the Dashwoods were at the expense of a journey from Sussex to do them honour.

"I will not say that I am disappointed, my dear sister," said John, as they were walking together one morning before the gates of Delaford House, "That would be saying too much, for certainly you have been one of the most fortunate young women in the world, as it is. But, I confess, it would give me great pleasure to call Colonel Brandon brother. His property here, his place, his house, every thing is in such respectable and excellent condition!—and his woods!—I have not seen such timber any where in Dorsetshire, as there is now standing in Delaford Hanger!—And though, perhaps, Marianne may not seem exactly the person to attract him—yet I think it would altogether be advisable for you to have them now frequently staying with you, for as Colonel Brandon seems a great deal at home, nobody can tell what may happen—for, when people are much thrown together, and see little of anybody else—and it will always be in your power to set her off to advantage, and so forth;—in short, you may as well give her a chance—You understand me."—

But though Mrs. Ferrars DID come to see them, and always treated them with the make-believe of decent affection, they were never insulted by her real favour and preference. THAT was due to the folly of Robert, and the cunning of his wife; and it was earned by them before many months had passed away. The selfish sagacity of the latter, which had at first drawn Robert into the scrape, was the principal instrument of his deliverance from it; for her respectful humility, assiduous attentions, and endless flatteries, as soon as the smallest opening was given for their exercise, reconciled Mrs. Ferrars to his choice, and re-established him completely in her favour.

The whole of Lucy's behaviour in the affair, and the prosperity which crowned it, therefore, may be held forth as a most encouraging instance of what an earnest, an unceasing attention to self-interest, however its progress may be apparently obstructed, will do in securing every advantage of fortune, with no other sacrifice than that of time and conscience. When Robert first sought her acquaintance, and privately visited her in Bartlett's Buildings, it was only with the view imputed to him by his brother. He merely meant to persuade her to give up the engagement; and as there could be nothing to overcome but the affection of both, he naturally expected that one or two interviews would settle the matter. In that point, however, and that only, he erred;—for though Lucy soon gave him hopes that his eloquence would convince her in TIME, another visit, another conversation, was always wanted to produce this conviction. Some doubts always lingered in her mind when they parted, which could only be removed by another half hour's discourse with himself. His attendance was by this means secured, and the rest followed in course. Instead of talking of Edward, they came gradually to talk only of Robert,—a subject on which he had always more to say than on any other, and in which she soon betrayed an interest even equal to his own; and in short, it became speedily evident to both, that he had entirely supplanted his brother. He was proud of his conquest, proud of tricking Edward, and very proud of marrying privately without his mother's consent. What immediately followed is known. They passed some months in great happiness at Dawlish; for she had many relations and old acquaintances to cut—and he drew several plans for magnificent cottages;—and from thence returning to town, procured the forgiveness of Mrs. Ferrars, by the simple expedient of asking it, which, at Lucy's instigation, was adopted. The forgiveness, at first, indeed, as was reasonable, comprehended only Robert; and Lucy, who had owed his mother no duty and therefore could have transgressed none, still remained some weeks longer unpardoned. But perseverance in humility of conduct and messages, in self-condemnation for Robert's offence, and gratitude for the unkindness she was treated with, procured her in time the haughty notice which overcame her by its graciousness, and led soon afterwards, by rapid degrees, to the highest state of affection and influence. Lucy became as necessary to Mrs. Ferrars, as either Robert or Fanny; and while Edward was never cordially forgiven for having once intended to marry her, and Elinor, though superior to her in fortune and birth, was spoken of as an intruder, SHE was in every thing considered, and always openly acknowledged, to be a favourite child. They settled in town, received very liberal assistance from Mrs. Ferrars, were on the best terms imaginable with the Dashwoods; and setting aside the jealousies and ill-will continually subsisting between Fanny and Lucy, in which their husbands of course took a part, as well as the frequent domestic disagreements between Robert and Lucy themselves, nothing could exceed the harmony in which they all lived together.

What Edward had done to forfeit the right of eldest son, might have puzzled many people to find out; and what Robert had done to succeed to it, might have puzzled them still more. It was an arrangement, however, justified in its effects, if not in its cause; for nothing ever appeared in Robert's style of living or of talking to give a suspicion of his regretting the extent of his income, as either leaving his brother too little, or bringing himself too much;—and if Edward might be judged from the ready discharge of his duties in every particular, from an increasing attachment to his wife and his home, and from the regular cheerfulness of his spirits, he might be supposed no less contented with his lot, no less free from every wish of an exchange.

Elinor's marriage divided her as little from her family as could well be contrived, without rendering the cottage at Barton entirely useless, for her mother and sisters spent much more than half their time with her. Mrs. Dashwood was acting on motives of policy as well as pleasure in the frequency of her visits at Delaford; for her wish of bringing Marianne and Colonel Brandon together was hardly less earnest, though rather more liberal than what John had expressed. It was now her darling object. Precious as was the company of her daughter to her, she desired nothing so much as to give up its constant enjoyment to her valued friend; and to see Marianne settled at the mansion-house was equally the wish of Edward and Elinor. They each felt his sorrows, and their own obligations, and Marianne, by general consent, was to be the reward of all.

With such a confederacy against her—with a knowledge so intimate of his goodness—with a conviction of his fond attachment to herself, which at last, though long after it was observable to everybody else—burst on her—what could she do?

Marianne Dashwood was born to an extraordinary fate. She was born to discover the falsehood of her own opinions, and to counteract, by her conduct, her most favourite maxims. She was born to overcome an affection formed so late in life as at seventeen, and with no sentiment superior to strong esteem and lively friendship, voluntarily to give her hand to another!—and THAT other, a man who had suffered no less than herself under the event of a former attachment, whom, two years before, she had considered too old to be married,—and who still sought the constitutional safeguard of a flannel waistcoat!

But so it was. Instead of falling a sacrifice to an irresistible passion, as once she had fondly flattered herself with expecting,—instead of remaining even for ever with her mother, and finding her only pleasures in retirement and study, as afterwards in her more calm and sober judgment she had determined on,—she found herself at nineteen, submitting to new attachments, entering on new duties, placed in a new home, a wife, the mistress of a family, and the patroness of a village.

Colonel Brandon was now as happy, as all those who best loved him, believed he deserved to be;—in Marianne he was consoled for every past affliction;—her regard and her society restored his mind to animation, and his spirits to cheerfulness; and that Marianne found her own happiness in forming his, was equally the persuasion and delight of each observing friend. Marianne could never love by halves; and her whole heart became, in time, as much devoted to her husband, as it had once been to Willoughby.

Willoughby could not hear of her marriage without a pang; and his punishment was soon afterwards complete in the voluntary forgiveness of Mrs. Smith, who, by stating his marriage with a woman of character, as the source of her clemency, gave him reason for believing that had he behaved with honour towards Marianne, he might at once have been happy and rich. That his repentance of misconduct, which thus brought its own punishment, was sincere, need not be doubted;—nor that he long thought of Colonel Brandon with envy, and of Marianne with regret. But that he was for ever inconsolable, that he fled from society, or contracted an habitual gloom of temper, or died of a broken heart, must not be depended on—for he did neither. He lived to exert, and frequently to enjoy himself. His wife was not always out of humour, nor his home always uncomfortable; and in his breed of horses and dogs, and in sporting of every kind, he found no inconsiderable degree of domestic felicity.

For Marianne, however—in spite of his incivility in surviving her loss—he always retained that decided regard which interested him in every thing that befell her, and made her his secret standard of perfection in woman;—and many a rising beauty would be slighted by him in after-days as bearing no comparison with Mrs. Brandon.

Mrs. Dashwood was prudent enough to remain at the cottage, without attempting a removal to Delaford; and fortunately for Sir John and Mrs. Jennings, when Marianne was taken from them, Margaret had reached an age highly suitable for dancing, and not very ineligible for being supposed to have a lover.

Between Barton and Delaford, there was that constant communication which strong family affection would naturally dictate;—and among the merits and the happiness of Elinor and Marianne, let it not be ranked as the least considerable, that though sisters, and living almost within sight of each other, they could live without disagreement between themselves, or producing coolness between their husbands.



　　费拉斯太太似乎一向就怕别人说自己太心慈手软，因此，为了遮入耳目，她先是很有分寸地坚决推脱了一阵，然后才把爱德华叫到面前，宣布他又成了她的儿子。
　　最近，她家里简直乱了套。她多年来一直是有两个儿子。但是几周前，爱德华自作自受，使她失去了一个儿子，接着罗伯特又同样自作自受，半个月来，她一个儿子也没有了。现在，通过爱德华的幡然悔悟，她又有了一个儿子。
　　爱德华尽管再次得到生存的权利，在他透露目前的订婚之前，并不感到自己的继续生存是万无一失的。他担心这件事情一公之于众，就会突然改变他的身份，像前次那样马上被宣布为不复存在。他带着诚惶诚恐的心情，小心翼翼地作了透露，出乎意料之外，听的人显得异常平静。起先，费拉斯太太尽量以理相劝、动员他不要和达什伍德小姐成亲，告诉他莫顿小姐是个更高贵、更有钱的女人。为了增强说服力，她又谈到莫顿小姐是贵族的女儿，有三万镑财产，而达什伍德小姐只是个无名绅士的女儿，财产不到三千镑，可是当她发现，爱德华虽然承认她说的千真万确，但他决不想俯首听命。她根据以往的经验断定，最明智的办法还是顺从他——于是，做母亲的悻悻不快地耽延了一阵之后（这都是为了维护她的尊严，防止有人怀疑她心肠太好），终于发布命令，同意爱德华与埃丽诺结婚。
　　她准备加何帮助他们增加收入，那是下一步考虑的事情。不过，有一点很明确，虽然爱德华现在是他唯一的儿子，但他决不是她的长子了，因为她一方面不可避免地要赠给罗伯特一年一千镑，另一方面又甘愿看着爱德华为了充其量不过二百五十镑的收入而去当牧师。她除了原先送给爱德华和范妮一人一万镑以外，对现在和将来没有作出任何别的许诺。
　　不过，这倒满足了爱德华和埃丽诺的欲望，而且超出了他们的期望。倒是费拉斯太太自己，却在装腔作势地自我辩解，似乎只有她在为自己没有多给表示惊讶。
　　爱德华取得了足以满足他们需要的收入，在获得牧师职位之后，便一切俱备，只等新房了。布兰登上校渴望快点迎接埃丽诺，房子正在大加修缮。埃丽诺一心等着快点完工，谁料像往常一样，因为工人莫名其妙地拖拖拉拉，工程总是迟迟不能竣工。埃丽诺千失望、万扫兴地等了一段时间之后，便遵照惯例，打破了当初关于不准备就绪不结婚的明确誓言，趁早秋时节在巴顿教堂举行了婚札。
　　他们婚后的第一个月是同他们的朋友一起，在大宅第里度过的。从这里，他们可以监督牧师公馆的工程进展，随意到现场直接指挥。可以选择糊墙纸，规划灌木丛，设计园景。詹宁斯太太的预言虽然点错了鸳鸯谱，但是基本上兑现了。因为她可以赶在米迦勒节前到牧师公馆拜访爱德华夫妇，而且正如她所确信的那样，她发觉埃丽诺和她的丈夫是世界上最幸福的一对夫妻。实际上，他们也没有别的奢望，只盼着布兰登上校和玛丽安能结成良缘，他们的奶牛能吃到上好的牧草。
　　他们刚定居下来，几乎所有的亲友都赶来拜访。费拉斯太太跑来瞧瞧这对幸福的小夫妻，当初允许他们结婚时，她还真有点羞愧呢。就连达什伍德夫妇也不惜破费，从苏塞克斯远道而来，向他们道喜。
　　一天早晨，他们一道在德拉福大宅第门前散步时，约翰说道：“我的好妹妹，我不想说我感到失望。这样说也许有点过分，因为事实上你当然是个世上最幸运的年轻女人。不过，坦白地说，我倘若能把布兰登上校称作妹夫，那我会感到高兴之至。他在这里的财产、地位和住宅，—切都是那样体面，那样优越！还有他的树林！现在生长在德拉福坡林上的那种树木，我在多塞特郡的其他地方还从未见到过呢。也许玛丽安不像是个对他有吸引力的姑娘，不过我想你们最好让他俩经常和你们呆在一起。因为布兰登上校在这里非常怡然自得，谁也说不上会出现什么情况——因为如果两个人碰到一起，见不到其他任何人．——你们总有办法把玛丽安打扮得绰约多姿……总而言之，你们不纺给她个机会。你懂得我的意思。”
　　且说费拉斯太太虽然来看望儿子儿媳了，而旦总是装作对他们颇有情义，但是他们从来没有真正得到她的欢心与宠爱。那是由于罗伯特的愚蠢和他妻子的狡诈引起的。没出几个月，他们倒赢得了费拉斯太太的欢心与宠爱。露西的自私与精明，最初使罗伯特陷入窘境，后来又为他摆脱窘境立下了汗马功劳．因为她那唯唯诺诺、大献股勤和百般奉承的本领一旦得到机会施展，费拉斯太太便宽容了罗伯特的选择，完全恢复了对他的欢心。
　　露西在这件事中的整个行为及其获得的荣华富贵，可以被视为一个极其鼓舞人心的事例，说明对于自身利益，只要刻意追求，锲而不舍，不管表面上看来有多大阻力，都会取得圆满成功，除了要牺牲时间和良心之外，别无其他代价。罗伯特最初去找她，在巴特利特大楼对她进行私访时，本是带着他哥哥所说的目的去的。他只打算劝说她放弃这门婚事，再说他不过就是要制服两个人的感情，他便自然而然地认为：谈上一两次就能解决问题。不想在这一点上，也只是在这一点上，他算计错了。因为虽说露西给他希望，觉得凭着他的能说会道，迟早总会说服她，但每次总是需要再见一面，再谈一次，才能达到说服她的目的。他们分别的时候，露西心里总是存有几分疑虑，只有同他再交谈半个小时才能消释。就用这个办法，她把他给套住了，事情往后就顺当了。他们不再谈论爱德华，而是渐渐地只谈起罗伯特。一谈起自己，罗伯特总是比谈论什么话题都健谈，而露西也马上显得同样兴致勃勃。总之一句活，双方迅即发现，罗伯特已经完全取代了哥哥的位置。他为他赢得了露西的爱情感到得意，为他戏弄了爱德华感到骄傲，为不经母亲同意而秘密结婚感到自豪。紧接着发生的事情，大家已经知道。他们在道利希非常快乐地度过了几个月，因为露西可以摆脱许多亲戚旧交—一罗伯特还设计了几幢豪华的乡舍。他们随后回到城里，在露西的唆使下，经罗伯特简简单单地一要求，便取得了费拉斯太太的宽恕。理所当然，一开始得到宽恕的只是罗伯特。露西对他母亲本来就不负有义务，因而也谈不到背信弃义。又过了几个星期，她仍然没有得到宽恕。但是她继续装作低三下四的样子，一再对罗伯特的罪过引咎自责，对她自己受到的苛刻待遇表示感激，最后终于受到了费拉斯太太的赏识。尽管太太表现得有些傲慢，但露西深为她的宽宏大量所折服，此后不久，她便迅速达到了最受宠爱、最有影响的地步。对于费拉斯太太说来，露西变得像罗伯特和范妮一样必不可少。爱德华因为一度想娶她而一直得不到真诚的谅解，埃丽诺虽说财产和出身都胜她一筹，但却被当成不税禄*究竟为什么失去了长子的权利，可能使许多人感到疑惑不解，而罗伯特凭什么继承了这个权利，可能会使人们更加疑惑不解。这种安排如果说没有正当的原因，其结果却是无可非议的。因为从罗伯特的生活派头和说话派头来看，一直没有任何迹象表明他对自己的巨额收入感到懊悔，既不懊悔给他哥哥留得太少，也不懊悔自己捞得太多。如果再从爱德华处处注意履行自己的职责，越来越钟爱自己的妻室，总是兴高采烈的情形来判断，他似乎对自己的命运同样感到称心如意，并不希望和他弟弟来个对调，
　　埃丽诺出嫁以后，经过妥当的安排，一方面使自己尽量少与家人分离，一方面又不让巴顿乡舍完全荒废，因为她母亲妹妹有大半时间和她住在—起。达什伍德太太之所以频频来到德拉福，既有散散心的打算，又有策略上的考虑，因为她想把玛丽安和布兰登上校撮合到—起的愿望，虽然比约翰所说的磊落得多，但是也着实够热切的了。现在，这已成为她梦寐以求的目标。尽管她十分珍惜和女儿在一起的机会，但是她更愿意把这种乐趣永远让给她的尊贵的朋友。况且，亲眼见到玛丽安嫁进大宅第，也是爱德华和埃丽诺的愿望。他们都感到了上校的悲伤和自己的责任。他们一致认为：玛丽安将给大家带来慰籍。
　　玛丽安在这样的共谋之下—一她如此了解上校的美德一—上校对她的一片深情早为大家有目共睹，最后终于也被她认识到了——她该怎么办呢？
　　玛丽安．达什伍德天生有个特殊的命运。她天生注定要发现她的看法是错误的，而且用她的行动否定了她最喜爱的格言。她天生注定要克服十七岁时形成的那股钟情，而且怀着崇高的敬意和真挚的友情，自觉自愿地把心交给了另一个人！而这另一个人，由于过去的一次恋爱经历，遭受的痛苦并不比她少。就是他，两年前被玛丽安认为太老了，不能结婚；就是他，现在还要穿着法兰绒马甲保护身体。
　　不过，事情就是如此。玛丽安没有像她一度天真地期望的那样，沦为不可抗拒的感情的牺牲品．没有像她后来头脑冷静下来所决定的那样，准备一辈子守在母亲身边，唯一的乐趣就是闭门读书。如今到了十九岁，她发现自己屈从于新的情感，担负起新的义务，安顿在一所新居里，做了妻子，家庭主妇，一个村庄的女保护人。
　　布兰登上校就像最喜爱他的人们认为的那样，现在理所当然是非常幸福的。玛丽安为他过去的—切创伤带来了安慰。有她关心，有她作伴，他的心智恢复了活力，情绪重新欢快起来。每个明眼的朋友也都高兴地认识到，玛丽安给他带来了幸福．也从中找到了自己的幸福。玛丽安爱起人来决不会半心半意，她的整颗心就像一度献给了威洛比那样．现在终于完全献给了她的丈夫。
　　威洛比听到他结婚的消息，不能不感到极度悲痛。过了不久。史密斯太太故意宽恕了他，将对他的惩罚推向顶点。史密斯太太明确表示，他与一个正派的女人结婚本是她厚待他的前提，这就使他有理由相信：想当初他假若能体面地对待玛丽安，他马上就会获得幸福，变得富有起来。威洛比悔恨自己的不道德行为给他带来了惩罚，他的忏悔是诚恳的，无可怀疑的。同样无可怀疑的是，有很长时间，他一想起布兰登上校就满怀嫉妒，一想起玛丽安就懊悔莫及。但是说他永远得不到安慰——说他要逃离尘嚣，养成阴郁消沉的习惯，最后死于过度悲伤，这可令人无法置信──因为他并非如此。他顽强地活着，而且经常活得很快活。他的妻子并非总是闷闷不乐，他的家里并非总是郁郁寡欢！他的马、他的狗，以及各种各样的游猎活动，都给他带来了不少家居之乐。
　　尽管失去玛丽安以后使他变粗野了，但他一直对玛丽安怀有明显的敬恋之情，使他对降临到她头上的每件事都深感兴趣，使他暗中把她视为女人中十全十美的典范。在以后的岁月里，出现了不少美丽的少女，只因比不上布兰登夫人而被他嗤之以鼻。达什伍德太太比较慎重，仍然住在乡舍里，而没有搬到德拉福。使约翰爵士和詹宁斯太太感到幸运的是，玛丽安出嫁之后，玛格丽特到了适合跳舞的年龄，而且有个她心爱的人也并非很不适当了。



THE END
　
  
回复 引用 新鲜事
顶端
narcis

ZxID：9184039

763474鲜花 75鸡蛋

等级: 派派版主
一二三四五六七~~~
举报 只看该作者 50楼  发表于: 2013-10-30 0
Chapter forty-nine

Unaccountable, however, as the circumstances of his release might appear to the whole family, it was certain that Edward was free; and to what purpose that freedom would be employed was easily pre-determined by all;—for after experiencing the blessings of one imprudent engagement, contracted without his mother's consent, as he had already done for more than four years, nothing less could be expected of him in the failure of THAT, than the immediate contraction of another.

His errand at Barton, in fact, was a simple one. It was only to ask Elinor to marry him;—and considering that he was not altogether inexperienced in such a question, it might be strange that he should feel so uncomfortable in the present case as he really did, so much in need of encouragement and fresh air.

How soon he had walked himself into the proper resolution, however, how soon an opportunity of exercising it occurred, in what manner he expressed himself, and how he was received, need not be particularly told. This only need be said;—that when they all sat down to table at four o'clock, about three hours after his arrival, he had secured his lady, engaged her mother's consent, and was not only in the rapturous profession of the lover, but, in the reality of reason and truth, one of the happiest of men. His situation indeed was more than commonly joyful. He had more than the ordinary triumph of accepted love to swell his heart, and raise his spirits. He was released without any reproach to himself, from an entanglement which had long formed his misery, from a woman whom he had long ceased to love;—and elevated at once to that security with another, which he must have thought of almost with despair, as soon as he had learnt to consider it with desire. He was brought, not from doubt or suspense, but from misery to happiness;—and the change was openly spoken in such a genuine, flowing, grateful cheerfulness, as his friends had never witnessed in him before.

His heart was now open to Elinor, all its weaknesses, all its errors confessed, and his first boyish attachment to Lucy treated with all the philosophic dignity of twenty-four.

"It was a foolish, idle inclination on my side," said he, "the consequence of ignorance of the world—and want of employment. Had my brother given me some active profession when I was removed at eighteen from the care of Mr. Pratt, I think—nay, I am sure, it would never have happened; for though I left Longstaple with what I thought, at the time, a most unconquerable preference for his niece, yet had I then had any pursuit, any object to engage my time and keep me at a distance from her for a few months, I should very soon have outgrown the fancied attachment, especially by mixing more with the world, as in such case I must have done. But instead of having any thing to do, instead of having any profession chosen for me, or being allowed to chuse any myself, I returned home to be completely idle; and for the first twelvemonth afterwards I had not even the nominal employment, which belonging to the university would have given me; for I was not entered at Oxford till I was nineteen. I had therefore nothing in the world to do, but to fancy myself in love; and as my mother did not make my home in every respect comfortable, as I had no friend, no companion in my brother, and disliked new acquaintance, it was not unnatural for me to be very often at Longstaple, where I always felt myself at home, and was always sure of a welcome; and accordingly I spent the greatest part of my time there from eighteen to nineteen: Lucy appeared everything that was amiable and obliging. She was pretty too—at least I thought so THEN; and I had seen so little of other women, that I could make no comparisons, and see no defects. Considering everything, therefore, I hope, foolish as our engagement was, foolish as it has since in every way been proved, it was not at the time an unnatural or an inexcusable piece of folly."

The change which a few hours had wrought in the minds and the happiness of the Dashwoods, was such—so great—as promised them all, the satisfaction of a sleepless night. Mrs. Dashwood, too happy to be comfortable, knew not how to love Edward, nor praise Elinor enough, how to be enough thankful for his release without wounding his delicacy, nor how at once to give them leisure for unrestrained conversation together, and yet enjoy, as she wished, the sight and society of both.

Marianne could speak her happiness only by tears. Comparisons would occur—regrets would arise;—and her joy, though sincere as her love for her sister, was of a kind to give her neither spirits nor language.

But Elinor—how are her feelings to be described?—From the moment of learning that Lucy was married to another, that Edward was free, to the moment of his justifying the hopes which had so instantly followed, she was every thing by turns but tranquil. But when the second moment had passed, when she found every doubt, every solicitude removed, compared her situation with what so lately it had been,—saw him honourably released from his former engagement, saw him instantly profiting by the release, to address herself and declare an affection as tender, as constant as she had ever supposed it to be,—she was oppressed, she was overcome by her own felicity;—and happily disposed as is the human mind to be easily familiarized with any change for the better, it required several hours to give sedateness to her spirits, or any degree of tranquillity to her heart.

Edward was now fixed at the cottage at least for a week;—for whatever other claims might be made on him, it was impossible that less than a week should be given up to the enjoyment of Elinor's company, or suffice to say half that was to be said of the past, the present, and the future;—for though a very few hours spent in the hard labor of incessant talking will despatch more subjects than can really be in common between any two rational creatures, yet with lovers it is different. Between them no subject is finished, no communication is even made, till it has been made at least twenty times over.

Lucy's marriage, the unceasing and reasonable wonder among them all, formed of course one of the earliest discussions of the lovers;—and Elinor's particular knowledge of each party made it appear to her in every view, as one of the most extraordinary and unaccountable circumstances she had ever heard. How they could be thrown together, and by what attraction Robert could be drawn on to marry a girl, of whose beauty she had herself heard him speak without any admiration,—a girl too already engaged to his brother, and on whose account that brother had been thrown off by his family—it was beyond her comprehension to make out. To her own heart it was a delightful affair, to her imagination it was even a ridiculous one, but to her reason, her judgment, it was completely a puzzle.

Edward could only attempt an explanation by supposing, that, perhaps, at first accidentally meeting, the vanity of the one had been so worked on by the flattery of the other, as to lead by degrees to all the rest. Elinor remembered what Robert had told her in Harley Street, of his opinion of what his own mediation in his brother's affairs might have done, if applied to in time. She repeated it to Edward.

"That was exactly like Robert,"—was his immediate observation.—"And THAT," he presently added, "might perhaps be in HIS head when the acquaintance between them first began. And Lucy perhaps at first might think only of procuring his good offices in my favour. Other designs might afterward arise."

How long it had been carrying on between them, however, he was equally at a loss with herself to make out; for at Oxford, where he had remained for choice ever since his quitting London, he had had no means of hearing of her but from herself, and her letters to the very last were neither less frequent, nor less affectionate than usual. Not the smallest suspicion, therefore, had ever occurred to prepare him for what followed;—and when at last it burst on him in a letter from Lucy herself, he had been for some time, he believed, half stupified between the wonder, the horror, and the joy of such a deliverance. He put the letter into Elinor's hands.

"Dear Sir,

"Being very sure I have long lost your affections, I have thought myself at liberty to bestow my own on another, and have no doubt of being as happy with him as I once used to think I might be with you; but I scorn to accept a hand while the heart was another's. Sincerely wish you happy in your choice, and it shall not be my fault if we are not always good friends, as our near relationship now makes proper. I can safely say I owe you no ill-will, and am sure you will be too generous to do us any ill offices. Your brother has gained my affections entirely, and as we could not live without one another, we are just returned from the altar, and are now on our way to Dawlish for a few weeks, which place your dear brother has great curiosity to see, but thought I would first trouble you with these few lines, and shall always remain,

"Your sincere well-wisher, friend, and sister,      
    "Lucy Ferrars.                

"I have burnt all your letters, and will return your picture the first opportunity. Please to destroy my scrawls—but the ring with my hair you are very welcome to keep."

Elinor read and returned it without any comment.

"I will not ask your opinion of it as a composition," said Edward.—"For worlds would not I have had a letter of hers seen by you in former days.—In a sister it is bad enough, but in a wife!—how I have blushed over the pages of her writing!—and I believe I may say that since the first half year of our foolish—business—this is the only letter I ever received from her, of which the substance made me any amends for the defect of the style."

"However it may have come about," said Elinor, after a pause,—"they are certainly married. And your mother has brought on herself a most appropriate punishment. The independence she settled on Robert, through resentment against you, has put it in his power to make his own choice; and she has actually been bribing one son with a thousand a-year, to do the very deed which she disinherited the other for intending to do. She will hardly be less hurt, I suppose, by Robert's marrying Lucy, than she would have been by your marrying her."

"She will be more hurt by it, for Robert always was her favourite.—She will be more hurt by it, and on the same principle will forgive him much sooner."

In what state the affair stood at present between them, Edward knew not, for no communication with any of his family had yet been attempted by him. He had quitted Oxford within four and twenty hours after Lucy's letter arrived, and with only one object before him, the nearest road to Barton, had had no leisure to form any scheme of conduct, with which that road did not hold the most intimate connection. He could do nothing till he were assured of his fate with Miss Dashwood; and by his rapidity in seeking THAT fate, it is to be supposed, in spite of the jealousy with which he had once thought of Colonel Brandon, in spite of the modesty with which he rated his own deserts, and the politeness with which he talked of his doubts, he did not, upon the whole, expect a very cruel reception. It was his business, however, to say that he did, and he said it very prettily. What he might say on the subject a twelvemonth after, must be referred to the imagination of husbands and wives.

That Lucy had certainly meant to deceive, to go off with a flourish of malice against him in her message by Thomas, was perfectly clear to Elinor; and Edward himself, now thoroughly enlightened on her character, had no scruple in believing her capable of the utmost meanness of wanton ill-nature. Though his eyes had been long opened, even before his acquaintance with Elinor began, to her ignorance and a want of liberality in some of her opinions—they had been equally imputed, by him, to her want of education; and till her last letter reached him, he had always believed her to be a well-disposed, good-hearted girl, and thoroughly attached to himself. Nothing but such a persuasion could have prevented his putting an end to an engagement, which, long before the discovery of it laid him open to his mother's anger, had been a continual source of disquiet and regret to him.

"I thought it my duty," said he, "independent of my feelings, to give her the option of continuing the engagement or not, when I was renounced by my mother, and stood to all appearance without a friend in the world to assist me. In such a situation as that, where there seemed nothing to tempt the avarice or the vanity of any living creature, how could I suppose, when she so earnestly, so warmly insisted on sharing my fate, whatever it might be, that any thing but the most disinterested affection was her inducement? And even now, I cannot comprehend on what motive she acted, or what fancied advantage it could be to her, to be fettered to a man for whom she had not the smallest regard, and who had only two thousand pounds in the world. She could not foresee that Colonel Brandon would give me a living."

"No; but she might suppose that something would occur in your favour; that your own family might in time relent. And at any rate, she lost nothing by continuing the engagement, for she has proved that it fettered neither her inclination nor her actions. The connection was certainly a respectable one, and probably gained her consideration among her friends; and, if nothing more advantageous occurred, it would be better for her to marry you than be single."

Edward was, of course, immediately convinced that nothing could have been more natural than Lucy's conduct, nor more self-evident than the motive of it.

Elinor scolded him, harshly as ladies always scold the imprudence which compliments themselves, for having spent so much time with them at Norland, when he must have felt his own inconstancy.

"Your behaviour was certainly very wrong," said she; "because—to say nothing of my own conviction, our relations were all led away by it to fancy and expect WHAT, as you were THEN situated, could never be."

He could only plead an ignorance of his own heart, and a mistaken confidence in the force of his engagement.

"I was simple enough to think, that because my FAITH was plighted to another, there could be no danger in my being with you; and that the consciousness of my engagement was to keep my heart as safe and sacred as my honour. I felt that I admired you, but I told myself it was only friendship; and till I began to make comparisons between yourself and Lucy, I did not know how far I was got. After that, I suppose, I WAS wrong in remaining so much in Sussex, and the arguments with which I reconciled myself to the expediency of it, were no better than these:—The danger is my own; I am doing no injury to anybody but myself."

Elinor smiled, and shook her head.

Edward heard with pleasure of Colonel Brandon's being expected at the Cottage, as he really wished not only to be better acquainted with him, but to have an opportunity of convincing him that he no longer resented his giving him the living of Delaford—"Which, at present," said he, "after thanks so ungraciously delivered as mine were on the occasion, he must think I have never forgiven him for offering."

Now he felt astonished himself that he had never yet been to the place. But so little interest had be taken in the matter, that he owed all his knowledge of the house, garden, and glebe, extent of the parish, condition of the land, and rate of the tithes, to Elinor herself, who had heard so much of it from Colonel Brandon, and heard it with so much attention, as to be entirely mistress of the subject.

One question after this only remained undecided, between them, one difficulty only was to be overcome. They were brought together by mutual affection, with the warmest approbation of their real friends; their intimate knowledge of each other seemed to make their happiness certain—and they only wanted something to live upon. Edward had two thousand pounds, and Elinor one, which, with Delaford living, was all that they could call their own; for it was impossible that Mrs. Dashwood should advance anything; and they were neither of them quite enough in love to think that three hundred and fifty pounds a-year would supply them with the comforts of life.

Edward was not entirely without hopes of some favourable change in his mother towards him; and on THAT he rested for the residue of their income. But Elinor had no such dependence; for since Edward would still be unable to marry Miss Morton, and his chusing herself had been spoken of in Mrs. Ferrars's flattering language as only a lesser evil than his chusing Lucy Steele, she feared that Robert's offence would serve no other purpose than to enrich Fanny.

About four days after Edward's arrival Colonel Brandon appeared, to complete Mrs. Dashwood's satisfaction, and to give her the dignity of having, for the first time since her living at Barton, more company with her than her house would hold. Edward was allowed to retain the privilege of first comer, and Colonel Brandon therefore walked every night to his old quarters at the Park; from whence he usually returned in the morning, early enough to interrupt the lovers' first tete-a-tete before breakfast.

A three weeks' residence at Delaford, where, in his evening hours at least, he had little to do but to calculate the disproportion between thirty-six and seventeen, brought him to Barton in a temper of mind which needed all the improvement in Marianne's looks, all the kindness of her welcome, and all the encouragement of her mother's language, to make it cheerful. Among such friends, however, and such flattery, he did revive. No rumour of Lucy's marriage had yet reached him:—he knew nothing of what had passed; and the first hours of his visit were consequently spent in hearing and in wondering. Every thing was explained to him by Mrs. Dashwood, and he found fresh reason to rejoice in what he had done for Mr. Ferrars, since eventually it promoted the interest of Elinor.

It would be needless to say, that the gentlemen advanced in the good opinion of each other, as they advanced in each other's acquaintance, for it could not be otherwise. Their resemblance in good principles and good sense, in disposition and manner of thinking, would probably have been sufficient to unite them in friendship, without any other attraction; but their being in love with two sisters, and two sisters fond of each other, made that mutual regard inevitable and immediate, which might otherwise have waited the effect of time and judgment.

The letters from town, which a few days before would have made every nerve in Elinor's body thrill with transport, now arrived to be read with less emotion that mirth. Mrs. Jennings wrote to tell the wonderful tale, to vent her honest indignation against the jilting girl, and pour forth her compassion towards poor Mr. Edward, who, she was sure, had quite doted upon the worthless hussy, and was now, by all accounts, almost broken-hearted, at Oxford.— "I do think," she continued, "nothing was ever carried on so sly; for it was but two days before Lucy called and sat a couple of hours with me. Not a soul suspected anything of the matter, not even Nancy, who, poor soul! came crying to me the day after, in a great fright for fear of Mrs. Ferrars, as well as not knowing how to get to Plymouth; for Lucy it seems borrowed all her money before she went off to be married, on purpose we suppose to make a show with, and poor Nancy had not seven shillings in the world;—so I was very glad to give her five guineas to take her down to Exeter, where she thinks of staying three or four weeks with Mrs. Burgess, in hopes, as I tell her, to fall in with the Doctor again. And I must say that Lucy's crossness not to take them along with them in the chaise is worse than all. Poor Mr. Edward! I cannot get him out of my head, but you must send for him to Barton, and Miss Marianne must try to comfort him."

Mr. Dashwood's strains were more solemn. Mrs. Ferrars was the most unfortunate of women—poor Fanny had suffered agonies of sensibility—and he considered the existence of each, under such a blow, with grateful wonder. Robert's offence was unpardonable, but Lucy's was infinitely worse. Neither of them were ever again to be mentioned to Mrs. Ferrars; and even, if she might hereafter be induced to forgive her son, his wife should never be acknowledged as her daughter, nor be permitted to appear in her presence. The secrecy with which everything had been carried on between them, was rationally treated as enormously heightening the crime, because, had any suspicion of it occurred to the others, proper measures would have been taken to prevent the marriage; and he called on Elinor to join with him in regretting that Lucy's engagement with Edward had not rather been fulfilled, than that she should thus be the means of spreading misery farther in the family.— He thus continued:

"Mrs. Ferrars has never yet mentioned Edward's name, which does not surprise us; but, to our great astonishment, not a line has been received from him on the occasion. Perhaps, however, he is kept silent by his fear of offending, and I shall, therefore, give him a hint, by a line to Oxford, that his sister and I both think a letter of proper submission from him, addressed perhaps to Fanny, and by her shewn to her mother, might not be taken amiss; for we all know the tenderness of Mrs. Ferrars's heart, and that she wishes for nothing so much as to be on good terms with her children."

This paragraph was of some importance to the prospects and conduct of Edward. It determined him to attempt a reconciliation, though not exactly in the manner pointed out by their brother and sister.

"A letter of proper submission!" repeated he; "would they have me beg my mother's pardon for Robert's ingratitude to HER, and breach of honour to ME?—I can make no submission—I am grown neither humble nor penitent by what has passed.—I am grown very happy; but that would not interest.—I know of no submission that IS proper for me to make."

"You may certainly ask to be forgiven," said Elinor, "because you have offended;—and I should think you might NOW venture so far as to profess some concern for having ever formed the engagement which drew on you your mother's anger."

He agreed that he might.

"And when she has forgiven you, perhaps a little humility may be convenient while acknowledging a second engagement, almost as imprudent in HER eyes as the first."

He had nothing to urge against it, but still resisted the idea of a letter of proper submission; and therefore, to make it easier to him, as he declared a much greater willingness to make mean concessions by word of mouth than on paper, it was resolved that, instead of writing to Fanny, he should go to London, and personally intreat her good offices in his favour.— "And if they really do interest themselves," said Marianne, in her new character of candour, "in bringing about a reconciliation, I shall think that even John and Fanny are not entirely without merit."

After a visit on Colonel Brandon's side of only three or four days, the two gentlemen quitted Barton together.— They were to go immediately to Delaford, that Edward might have some personal knowledge of his future home, and assist his patron and friend in deciding on what improvements were needed to it; and from thence, after staying there a couple of nights, he was to proceed on his journey to town.



　　虽然在达什伍德母女看来，爱德华解除婚约一事似乎是不可思议的，但他确实是解除了婚约。而他将如何利用这次解约，却被她们大家轻易地预料到了。因为四年来，他没有征得母亲的同意，已经尝到了—次轻率订婚的甜头，现在这门婚事吹了，谅他会马上再订—次亲。
　　其实，爱德华来巴顿的任务很简单，就是请求埃丽诺嫁给他。鉴于他在这种问题上并非毫无经验，这一次他居然会如此惴惴不安，如此需要别人加以鼓励，需要出去透透新鲜空气，真是不可思议。
　　不过，他路上如何迅速地坚定了决心，如何迅速地将决心见诸行动，又以何种方式表达衷曲，这一切都毋庸赘述。需要说明的只是：四点钟光景，大约在他到来三个钟头之后，大家一道坐下吃饭的时候，他已经把他的意中人捞到手了，并且取得了她母亲的同意。他声称自己是世上最幸福的人，这不仅出自情人的狂喜，而且不管从情理和实际来说，他也的确如此。他的情况确实令他异常高兴。除了求爱被接受了之外，他还有别的事情使他心潮格外澎湃，情绪格外高昂。他丝毫不用责备自己，他终于摆脱了一起长期给他造成痛苦的爱情纠葛，摆脱了一个他早已不再爱慕的女人——而且立即一跃赢得了另外—个女人。可是想当初，他刚刚产生这个念头时，心里几乎是绝望的，他不是从疑虑不安．而是从痛苦不堪中转而获得了幸福。他毫不掩饰地表白了这种变化，那股发自内心、感激不尽、涌流不止的欢快劲头，他的朋友们以前从未见过。
　　他向埃丽诺敞开了心扉——他供认了自己的全部弱点和过失一—并且带着二十四岁的人所具有的明哲和尊严，叙说了自己最初对露西的幼稚的眷恋。
　　“这是我的愚蠢和惰性引起的，”他说，“是我人情世态全然无知的结果——无所事事的结果。我十八岁脱离普赖特先生关照的时候，我母亲若是给我点事情干干，我想，不，我敢肯定，这种情况决不会发生。因为我离开郎斯特普尔的时候，虽然自以为对他的外甥女喜爱得不得了，但是我假如有点事情干，让我忙上几个月，和她疏远几个月，特别是多跟世人打打交道（在这种情况下，我肯定会这样做的），那我很快就会消除对她异想天开的眷恋。可是我回到家里，却没有事情干——既没给我选好职业，也不让我自己选择，完全无所事事。在随后的第一年，我甚至连个大学生名义上应该忙碌的事情都没有缘份，因为我直到十九岁才进入牛津大学。我在世上无事可做，只能沉溺于爱情的幻想。再加上我母亲没给我安排个舒舒适适的家——我与弟弟不友好，合不来，又讨厌结识新朋友，我也就自然而然地常往郎斯特普尔那里跑，因为我在那里总觉得很自在，总会受到欢迎。就这样，我从十八岁到十九岁，绝大部分时间都消磨在那里。露西似乎非常和蔼，非常可亲，人长得也很漂亮——至少我当时是这么认为的。我很少见到别的女人，没法比较，看不出她有什么缺陷。因此，考虑到这一切，尽管我们的订婚是愚蠢的，而且被彻底证明是愚蠢的，但是我希望，这在当时并非是不近人情、不可宽恕的蠢行。”
　　仅仅几个小时，就给达什伍德母女心里带来如此巨大的变化和幸福，她们完全可望洋洋得意地度过—个不眠之夜。达什伍德太太高兴得有点忐忑不安了，她不知道如何喜爱爱德华，如何赞扬埃丽诺才好—─不知道如何才能对爱德华的解除婚约表示足够的庆幸，而又不伤害他那脆弱的感情，如何才能既给他俩—起畅谈的闲暇，又能按照她的心愿，多瞧瞧他们，多和他们欢聚一会儿。
　　玛丽安只能用眼泪表示她的喜悦。她难免要做比较，要懊悔。她的喜悦之情虽然像她对姐姐的钟爱一样真心诚意，但是这种喜悦既没使她振奋起来，也没使她开口说话。
　　可是埃丽诺，她的心情应该如何描写呢？从她得知露西嫁给了别人，爱德华解除了婚约，到他证实她有理由如此迅速地燃起希望之火，在这段时刻里，她心里百感交集，难以平静。但是这段时刻过后．—─当她消除了一切怀疑、一切焦虑——将她现在的情况与刚才的情况一比较——见他体面地解除了过去的婚约——见他当即从解约中获得益处，向她求婚．就像她一直料想的那样，向她表露了深沉、坚贞的爱情——这时，她喜出望外，反倒变得沉闷起来。因为人心好喜不好悲，一见到形势好转就容易激动，所以她需要经过几个小时才能平静下来。
　　现在，爱德华在乡舍里至少住了一个星期。因为不管她们对他会有什么别的要求，他与埃丽诺欢聚的时间不能少于一个星期，否则，谈起过去、现在和未来，心里的话连一半也说不完。对于两个正常人说来，滔滔不绝地说上几个钟头，谈论的问题确实要比他们共同关心的问题来得多，然而对恋人来说，情况却不然了。在他们之间，一个话题至少得重复二十遍才能完结，否则，甚至都算不上交谈。
　　露西的结婚理所当然是她们大家最感到惊奇不已的事情，当然也构成两位情人最早谈论的话题之一。埃丽诺对男女双方有着特别的了解，他们的婚事无论从哪个角度看，都是她平生听到的一个最异乎寻常、最不可思议的现象。他们怎么会凑到一起，罗伯特受到什么诱惑，居然娶了一个她亲自听他说过，他一点也不爱慕的姑娘．——况且，这个姑娘己经同他哥哥订了婚，他哥哥为此还遭到家庭的遗弃——这一切真叫她百思不得其解。就她的心愿来说，这是桩大好事，就她的想象而言，事情甚至有点荒唐，但是，就她的理智和见识而论，这完全是个谜。
　　爱德华只能试图作作解释，凭借想象说：也许他们先是不期而遇，一方的阿谀奉承激起了另一方的虚荣心，以至逐渐导致了以后的事情。埃丽诺还记得罗伯特在哈利街对她说的话。他谈到他若是及时出面调解的话，他哥哥的事情会出现什么局面。她把那些话向爱德华重复了一遍。
　　“罗伯特就是那种人，”爱德华马上说道，“也许，”他当即接下去说，“他们刚开始认识，他脑子里可能就有那个念头。露西起初也许只想求他帮帮我的忙。图谋不轨可能是后来的事情。”
　　不过，他们之间究竟图谋了多久，爱德华像埃丽诺一样，也是不得而知。因为自从离开伦敦之后，他一直情愿呆在牛津，除了收到露西的信，没有别的办法能听到她的消息，而露西的信件直到最后既不比以往见少，也不比以往显得情淡爱弛。因此，他丝毫没有起过疑心，对后来的事情一点没有思想准备。最后，露西来了一封信，给他来了个突然袭击。的的确确，当时一听说自己给解除了这样一门婚事，真是又惊又怕又喜，不禁发了半天呆。他把那封信递到埃丽诺手里：
亲爱的先生：
　　鉴于我肯定早已失去了你的爱情，我认为自己有权利去钟爱另外一个人，而且我毫不怀疑，我与他结合将和我一度认为的与你结合一样幸福。你既然把心都交给了别人，我也就不屑同你结婚。衷心祝愿你作出了幸运的抉择。如果我们不能一直成为好朋友（我们现在的近亲关系使得我们理应如此），那可不是我的过错。我可以向你保证：我对你没有恶意。我还相信，你是个宽怀大度的人，不会来拆我们的台。你弟弟彻底嬴得了我的爱情，因为我们两人离开了就活不下去，我们刚到教堂结了婚，现在正在奔赴道利希的途中，因为你亲爱的弟弟很想看看这个地方，我们准备在那里逗留几个星期。不过，我想先写信告诉你，恕不多言。
　　
你永远诚挚的祝福者、朋友和弟媳      
　　露西．费拉斯敬上            

　　大札我已全部付之一炬，尊像一有机会定将奉还。请将拙书烧掉。至于戒指和头发，你尽可保留。
　　埃丽诺看完信，又一声不响地递了回去。
　　“我不想问你对这封信的文笔有什么看法，”爱德华说。“要在以前，我无论如何也不会把她的信拿给你看。作为弟媳，己经够糟糕啦，但若是作为妻子，我一见到她写的信，就脸红！我想必可以这样说，自从我们的蠢事开始头半年以来，这还是我从她那儿收到的唯一的一封信，其内容可以弥补其文笔上的缺陷。”
　　歇了片刻，埃丽诺说道：“不管事情是怎么发生的，他们肯定是结了婚啦。你母亲自作自受，这是对她最恰当不过的惩罚，她因为对你不满，便把一笔足以维持生计的资产赠给罗伯特，结果使他有能力自己选择。实际上，她是在用一年一千镑的资金，收买一个儿子去做被她剥夺了财产继承权的另一个儿子想做而没做的事情，我想，罗伯特娶露西给她带来的打击，很难说会比你娶露西给她带来的打击小。”
　　“她只会受到更大的打击，因为罗伯持一向都是她的宠儿。她将会受到更大的打击，而且基于同样的原因，她也会更快地原谅他。”
　　现在他们之间的关系如何，爱德华不得而知，因为他没有同家里任何人联系过。他收到露西的信不到二十四小时，就离开了牛津，心里只有一个目标，要取最近的路赶到巴顿，因而没有闲情逸致去考虑与那条路上没有紧密联系的行动安排。他与达什伍德小姐的命运不落实下来，他什么事情也不能干。他如此刻不容缓地追求这一命运，这就可以推想，尽管他—度嫉妒过布兰登上校一—尽管他对自己的估价比较谦虚，谈起自己的疑虑比较恳切，但是整个来说，他并不期待他会受到冷遇。但实际上，他偏说他确实是这么期待的，而且说得那么娓娓动听。不过他一年以后这话会怎么说，那就只得留给做夫妻的去想象。
　　露西早先让托马斯给她们捎来个口信，这当然是个骗局，旨在恶意中伤爱德华，对此，埃丽诺看得一清二楚。至于爱德华自己，他现在彻底看透了露西的本性，他毫不迟疑地相信，她性情邪恶乖戾，再卑鄙的事情都干得出来。虽然他甚至早在认识埃丽诺之前，就从她的一些见解中看出了她的无知和狭隘，但他把这些缺陷都归咎于缺乏教育的结果。直至收到她最后一封信之前，他一直认为她是个和蔼善良的姑娘，对她一片深情。只是因为抱有这种信念，他才没有结束这起婚约，虽然早在他母亲发现后对他大发雷霆之前，这门亲事就一直是他烦恼和悔恨的根源。
　　“当我被母亲抛弃，看来孤立无援的时候，”爱德华说，“我认为不管我的真实感情如何，我有义务加以克制，让她选择是否继续保持婚约。在这种情况下，似乎没有什么东西可以打动任何人的贪心和虚荣心，而她又如此诚恳、如此热切地坚持要与我同甘苦，共命运，这叫我怎么能设想，她的动机不是出自纯真无私的爱情呢？即使现在，我也无法理解她出于什么动机，或者说她幻想这对她有什么好处，偏要委身于一个她丝毫也不爱慕的人，而这个人不过只有两千镑的财产。她无法预见，布兰登上校会赠送我一份牧师俸禄。”
　　“她是无法预见，不过她也许在想：说不定会出现对你有利的情况。你家里人也许迟早会发发慈悲。无论如何，继续婚约对她并无损害，因为她已经证明，这既不束缚她的意向，也不束缚她的行动。这当然是一门很体面的亲事，很可能取得亲友们的体谅：如果不能出现更有利的情况，那她嫁给你总比独身要好。”
　　当然，爱德华马上认识到，没有什么事情比露西的行为更自然了，也没有什么事情比她的动机更昭然若揭。
　　埃丽诺严厉责备爱德华，就像女人总是责备男人行为轻率（而这种轻率又抬高了女人的身价），说他在诺兰同她们共处了那么长时间，他应该感到自己的反复无常，
　　“你的行为当然是非常错误的，”她说，“因为─—且不说我自己有什么看法．我们的亲属都因此而产生了错觉，异想天开地期待着一些照你当时的处境来看绝对不可能的事情。”
　　爱德华只好推说自己太无知，误信了婚约的力量。
　　“我头脑真够简单，以为我和别人订有婚约，同你在一起不会有危险。只要想到婚约，就能使我的心像我的尊严一样圣洁无恙。我感到我爱慕你，但我总对自己说，那只不过是友情而已。直到我开始拿你和露西进行比较，才知道我走得太远了。我想，从那之后，我不该继续赖在苏塞克斯不走，后来我甘愿呆在那里的理由不外乎是这样的：危险是我个人的，除我自己之外，我并不损害任何人。”
　　埃丽诺微微一笑，摇了摇头。
　　爱德华高兴地听说，布兰登上校即将光临乡舍，说真的，他不仅想跟布兰登深交，而且想趁机让他相信，上校要把德拉福的牧师职位赠给他，对此他再也不感到不愉快了。他说：“我当时很不礼貌地道了声谢，他现在一定会以为，我一直没有宽恕他要送我这份俸禄。”
　　现在，他感到惊讶，他居然从未去过那个地方。不过，他以前对这件事太不感兴趣，现在能对那儿的住宅、花园、土地、教区范围、土质状况以及什一税率有所了解，完全归功于埃丽诺。她从布兰登上校那儿听到大量情况，而且听得非常仔细，因而对此事了如指掌。
　　在这之后，他们两人之间只剩下一个问题还悬而未决，只剩下一个困难还有待克服。他们由于相亲相爱而结合在一起，嬴得了真正朋友的啧啧称赞。他们相互之间非常了解，这使他们无疑会获得幸福——他们唯一缺少的是生活费用，爱德华有两千镑，埃丽诺有一千镑，这些钱，再加上德拉福的牧师俸禄，是属于他们自己的全部资产。因为达什伍德太太不可能资助他们，而他们两人还没有热恋到忘乎所以的地步，认为一年三百五十镑会给他们带来舒适的生活。
　　爱德华对母亲可能改变对他的态度，并非完全不抱希望。相反，他就指靠从她那里得到他们的其余收入。可是，埃丽诺却不存有这种指望，因为，既然爱德华还是不能娶莫顿小姐为妻，既然费拉斯太太过去在奉承他选择埃丽诺时，只说比选择露西．斯蒂尔危害要小一点，那么她不免担心，罗伯特这样冒犯他的母亲，除了肥了范妮之外，不会产生别的结果。
　　爱德华别后约四天，布兰登上校也来了，一则使达什伍德太太彻底感到遂心如意，二则使她自从迁居巴顿以来，第一次有幸迎来这么多客人，以致家里都容纳不下了，爱德华享有先来的特权，布兰登先生每天晚上只好到巴顿庄园的老住处去投宿，第二天早晨又往往早早地从那儿返回来，正好打断那对恋人早饭前的第一次密谈。
　　布兰登上校曾在德拉福住了三个星期。三个星期以来．至少在每天晚上,他闲着没事,总在盘算三十五岁与十七岁之间的不相协调。他带着这样的心情来到巴顿．只有看到玛丽安恢复了元气，受到她的友好欢迎，听到她母亲鼓舞人心的语言，才能振奋起来。果然，来到这样的朋友之间，受到如此的厚待，他真的又变得兴致勃勃起来，有关露西结婚的消息还没传进他的耳朵，他对这些情况一无所知。因此他来访的头几个小时，全是用来听听新闻，边听边感到惊讶，达什伍德太太向他源源本本地作了介绍，他发现原先给费拉斯先生帮了点忙，现在更有理由为之庆幸了，因为最终使埃丽诺从中得到了好处。
　　不用说，两位先生的交往越深，彼此之间的好感也越发增长，因为不可能出现别的结果。他们在道义和理智上、性情和思维方法上都很相似，即使没有其他诱惑力，也足以使他们友好相处，而他们又爱着两妹妹，而且是非常要好的两妹妹，这就使得他们的相互尊敬成为不可避免和刻不容缓的了。否则，那就只好等待日久见人心啦。
　　城里的来信，若在几天之前倒会使埃丽诺浑身的神经都跟着激动起来，可是现在收到读起来，感到的与其说是激动，不如说是喜悦。詹宁斯太太写信来告诉这奇异的故事，发泄她对那位负心女子的满腔义愤，倾吐她对可怜的爱德华先生的深切同情。她确信，爱德华先生过于娇宠那小荡妇了，现在呆在牛津据说心都快碎了。“我认为，”她接着写道，“从来没有什么事情搞得这么诡谲，因为仅仅两天前露西还来我这里坐了两三个小时。没有一个人对这件事起过疑心，就连南希这个可怜人儿也没疑心过！她第二天哭哭啼啼地跑来了，吓得可怜巴巴的，唯恐费拉斯太太找她算帐，同时也不晓得如何去普利茅斯。看样子，露西去结婚之前把她的钱全借走了，想必是有意要摆摆阔气，但是可怜的南希总共剩下不到七先令。于是我很高兴地送给她五个几尼，把她送到埃克塞特。她想在那里与伯吉斯太太一起呆上几个星期，希望像我说的那样，能再次碰到博士。应该说，露西不带着南希乘马车一起走，这是再缺德不过了。可怜的爱德华，我没法忘掉他，你应当请他去巴顿，玛丽安小姐应当尽力安慰安慰他。”
　　达什伍德先生的来信语气更加严肃。费拉斯太太是个最不幸的女人——可怜的范妮感情上极其痛苦——他认为这两个人受到如此打击还能幸存于世，真叫他谢天谢地，惊叹不已。罗伯特的罪过是不可饶恕的，不过露西更是罪大恶极，以后再也不会向费拉斯太太提起他们两个人。即使费拉斯太太有朝一日会原谅她儿子，她决不会承认他的妻于是她的儿媳，也决不会允许她出现在她面前。他们暗中搞秘密活动，这就理所当然地被视为大大加重了他们的罪过，因为假使这事引起了别人的怀疑，就会采取适当的措施阻止这门婚事。他要求埃丽诺同他一起对这一情况表示遗憾：宁可让露西与爱德华结婚，也不该让她在家中造成这更大的不幸。约翰接着这样写道：
　　“费拉斯太太迄今还从未提起过爱德华的名字，对此我们并不感到惊奇。不过，使我们大为惊讶的是，在这关口，家里没有收到爱德华的片纸只字。也许他怕招惹是非，干脆保持缄默，因此我想往牛津写封信，给他个暗示，就说他姐姐和我都认为，他应该写一份中肯的求情书，或许可以寄给范妮，再由范妮转给她母亲，谁也不会见怪。因为我们都知道费拉斯太太心肠软，最希望同自己的子女保持良好的关系。”
　　这段话对爱德华的前途和行动颇为重要。他决定试图争取和解，虽然不完全遵照他姐夫姐姐指出的方式。
　　“一份中肯的求情书！”爱德华重复道，“难道他们想让我乞求母亲宽恕罗伯待对她忘恩负义，对我背信弃义？我不能委曲求全．—─我对这件事情既不感到丢脸，也不为之忏悔。我觉得非常幸福，不过他们对此不会感兴趣。我不知道我有什么情好求。”
　　“你当然可以要求得到宽恕，”埃丽诺说，“因为你犯了过错。我倒认为，你现在不妨大胆一些，对那次订婚惹得你母亲生气表示于心不安。”
　　爱德华同意可以这样办。
　　“当她宽恕你之后，你再承认第二次订婚，或许要谦恭一点，因为在她看来，这几乎与第一次订婚一样轻率。”
　　对此，爱德华没有什么好反对的，但他仍然不肯写一封中肯的求情信。他公开声称，要作出这种不体面的让步，他宁肯亲口去说，也不愿写信表示。因此，为了不难为他，他们决定：他不给范妮写信，而是跑一趟伦敦，当面求她帮帮忙。“如果他们当真愿意促成这次和解，”玛丽安带着重新显现的坦率性格说道，“我会认为，即使约翰和范妮也不是一无是处。”
　　布兰登上校只呆了三四天，两位先生便一道离开巴顿。他们马上就去德拉福，以便让爱德华亲自了解—下他未来的寓所，并帮助他的恩人和朋友决定需要作出哪些修整。在那里呆上两夜之后，他再启程去伦敦。 　
  
回复 引用 新鲜事
顶端
narcis

ZxID：9184039

763474鲜花 75鸡蛋

等级: 派派版主
一二三四五六七~~~
举报 只看该作者 49楼  发表于: 2013-10-30 0
Chapter forty-eight

Elinor now found the difference between the expectation of an unpleasant event, however certain the mind may be told to consider it, and certainty itself. She now found, that in spite of herself, she had always admitted a hope, while Edward remained single, that something would occur to prevent his marrying Lucy; that some resolution of his own, some mediation of friends, or some more eligible opportunity of establishment for the lady, would arise to assist the happiness of all. But he was now married; and she condemned her heart for the lurking flattery, which so much heightened the pain of the intelligence.

That he should be married soon, before (as she imagined) he could be in orders, and consequently before he could be in possession of the living, surprised her a little at first. But she soon saw how likely it was that Lucy, in her self-provident care, in her haste to secure him, should overlook every thing but the risk of delay. They were married, married in town, and now hastening down to her uncle's. What had Edward felt on being within four miles from Barton, on seeing her mother's servant, on hearing Lucy's message!

They would soon, she supposed, be settled at Delaford.—Delaford,—that place in which so much conspired to give her an interest; which she wished to be acquainted with, and yet desired to avoid. She saw them in an instant in their parsonage-house; saw in Lucy, the active, contriving manager, uniting at once a desire of smart appearance with the utmost frugality, and ashamed to be suspected of half her economical practices;—pursuing her own interest in every thought, courting the favour of Colonel Brandon, of Mrs. Jennings, and of every wealthy friend. In Edward—she knew not what she saw, nor what she wished to see;—happy or unhappy,—nothing pleased her; she turned away her head from every sketch of him.

Elinor flattered herself that some one of their connections in London would write to them to announce the event, and give farther particulars,—but day after day passed off, and brought no letter, no tidings. Though uncertain that any one were to blame, she found fault with every absent friend. They were all thoughtless or indolent.

"When do you write to Colonel Brandon, ma'am?" was an inquiry which sprung from the impatience of her mind to have something going on.

"I wrote to him, my love, last week, and rather expect to see, than to hear from him again. I earnestly pressed his coming to us, and should not be surprised to see him walk in today or tomorrow, or any day."

This was gaining something, something to look forward to. Colonel Brandon must have some information to give.

Scarcely had she so determined it, when the figure of a man on horseback drew her eyes to the window. He stopt at their gate. It was a gentleman, it was Colonel Brandon himself. Now she could hear more; and she trembled in expectation of it. But—it was NOT Colonel Brandon—neither his air—nor his height. Were it possible, she must say it must be Edward. She looked again. He had just dismounted;—she could not be mistaken,—it WAS Edward. She moved away and sat down. "He comes from Mr. Pratt's purposely to see us. I WILL be calm; I WILL be mistress of myself."

In a moment she perceived that the others were likewise aware of the mistake. She saw her mother and Marianne change colour; saw them look at herself, and whisper a few sentences to each other. She would have given the world to be able to speak—and to make them understand that she hoped no coolness, no slight, would appear in their behaviour to him;—but she had no utterance, and was obliged to leave all to their own discretion.

Not a syllable passed aloud. They all waited in silence for the appearance of their visitor. His footsteps were heard along the gravel path; in a moment he was in the passage, and in another he was before them.

His countenance, as he entered the room, was not too happy, even for Elinor. His complexion was white with agitation, and he looked as if fearful of his reception, and conscious that he merited no kind one. Mrs. Dashwood, however, conforming, as she trusted, to the wishes of that daughter, by whom she then meant in the warmth of her heart to be guided in every thing, met with a look of forced complacency, gave him her hand, and wished him joy.

He coloured, and stammered out an unintelligible reply. Elinor's lips had moved with her mother's, and, when the moment of action was over, she wished that she had shaken hands with him too. But it was then too late, and with a countenance meaning to be open, she sat down again and talked of the weather.

Marianne had retreated as much as possible out of sight, to conceal her distress; and Margaret, understanding some part, but not the whole of the case, thought it incumbent on her to be dignified, and therefore took a seat as far from him as she could, and maintained a strict silence.

When Elinor had ceased to rejoice in the dryness of the season, a very awful pause took place. It was put an end to by Mrs. Dashwood, who felt obliged to hope that he had left Mrs. Ferrars very well. In a hurried manner, he replied in the affirmative.

Another pause.

Elinor resolving to exert herself, though fearing the sound of her own voice, now said,

"Is Mrs. Ferrars at Longstaple?"

"At Longstaple!" he replied, with an air of surprise.— "No, my mother is in town."

"I meant," said Elinor, taking up some work from the table, "to inquire for Mrs. EDWARD Ferrars."

She dared not look up;—but her mother and Marianne both turned their eyes on him. He coloured, seemed perplexed, looked doubtingly, and, after some hesitation, said,—

"Perhaps you mean—my brother—you mean Mrs.—Mrs. Robert Ferrars."

"Mrs. Robert Ferrars!"—was repeated by Marianne and her mother in an accent of the utmost amazement;—and though Elinor could not speak, even HER eyes were fixed on him with the same impatient wonder. He rose from his seat, and walked to the window, apparently from not knowing what to do; took up a pair of scissors that lay there, and while spoiling both them and their sheath by cutting the latter to pieces as he spoke, said, in a hurried voice,

"Perhaps you do not know—you may not have heard that my brother is lately married to—to the youngest—to Miss Lucy Steele."

His words were echoed with unspeakable astonishment by all but Elinor, who sat with her head leaning over her work, in a state of such agitation as made her hardly know where she was.

"Yes," said he, "they were married last week, and are now at Dawlish."

Elinor could sit it no longer. She almost ran out of the room, and as soon as the door was closed, burst into tears of joy, which at first she thought would never cease. Edward, who had till then looked any where, rather than at her, saw her hurry away, and perhaps saw—or even heard, her emotion; for immediately afterwards he fell into a reverie, which no remarks, no inquiries, no affectionate address of Mrs. Dashwood could penetrate, and at last, without saying a word, quitted the room, and walked out towards the village—leaving the others in the greatest astonishment and perplexity on a change in his situation, so wonderful and so sudden;—a perplexity which they had no means of lessening but by their own conjectures.



　　埃丽诺发现，一件不幸的事情，不管你心里如何认定会发生，但期待中和发生后，两者之间毕竟还有不同之处。她发现，当爱德华尚未结婚的时候，她总是不由自主地抱有—线希望，希望能出现个什么情况，使他不能与露西结婚；希望他自己能下定决心，朋友们能从中调解，或者露西能遇到什么良机奇缘，促成大家皆大欢喜。但是他现在结了婚啦，埃丽诺责备自己不该存有侥幸心理，这种侥幸心理大大增加了这条消息带来的痛苦。
　　爱德华居然这么快就结了婚，没等他（照埃丽诺的想象，当上牧师，因而也没等他）获得牧师俸禄，这在起初使埃丽诺感到有点吃惊。但是她很快领悟到，露西出于深谋远虑，一心只想赶快把他弄到手，除了担心拖延的危险之外，别的事情一概无所顾忌。他们结了婚，在城里结了婚，现在正急着赶到她舅舅家。爱德华来到离巴顿不过四英里的地方，见到了她母亲的男仆，还听到了露西的话，这时他作何感想呢？
　　埃丽诺想，他们很快就会在德拉福安居下来——德拉福，就在这个地方，—系列事件激起了她的兴趣，使她既想了解．又想回避。转瞬间，她看见他们住在自己的牧师公馆里，发现露西是个活跃机灵的当家人，她把崇尚体面和克勤克俭融为一体，生怕别人看出她在节衣缩食。她一心一意追求自己的利益，极力巴结布兰登上校、詹宁斯太太以及每一位阔朋友。她知道爱德华怎么样，也不知道她该希望怎么样，他是幸福还是不幸福—一这都不会使她感到高兴。她索性不去考虑他是个什么样子。
　　埃丽诺满以为，她们伦敦的哪位亲友会写信来告诉这件事，并且进一步介绍点具体情况。谁想一天天过去了，还是杳无音信。她也说不上应该责怪谁，便干脆埋怨起不在跟前的每位朋友。他们一个个不是不体谅人，就是手太懒，“母亲，你什么时候给布兰登上校写信？”她一心急着想找个法子，突然提出了这样一个问题。
　　“好孩子，我上星期给他写了封信，我期待能见到他，而不是再收到他的信。我恳切地敦促他快来我们这里，说不定今明后天就会到。”
　　这话很起作用，使埃丽诺有了盼头。布兰登上校—定能带来点消息。
　　埃丽诺刚想到这里，不料有人骑着马走来，她情不自禁地朝窗外望去。那人在门口停住。他是位绅士，而且就是布兰登上校。现在，她可以听到更多的情况了。期待之中，她不禁颤抖起来。但是——这不是布兰登上校——既不是他的风度，也不是他的身材。如果可能的话，她要说这一定是爱德华。她再一看，他刚刚下马。她不会搞错，──就是爱德华。她离开窗口，坐了下来。“他特地从普赖特家赶来看望我们。我—定要镇静，—定要控制住自己。”
　　转瞬间，她察觉别人同样意识到这一错误。她发现母亲和玛丽安脸色变了；发现她们都在望着她，相互耳语了几句。她真恨不得能告诉她们——让她们明白，她希望她们不要冷落他，怠慢他，可是她什么也没说出来，只好听任她们自行其是。
　　大家一声不响，都在默默地等着客人出现。先是听到他走在压石道上的脚步声；一眨眼工夫，他走进走廊；再—转眼，他来到她们面前。
　　爱德华进房的时候，神色不太快活，甚至在埃丽诺看来也是如此。他的脸色因为局促不安而变得发白。看样子，他担心受到冷遇，他知道，他不配受到礼遇。可是，达什伍德太太心里一热，还是想—切听从女儿的，于是她自信是遵照女儿的心愿，强作笑颜地迎上前去，把手伸给他，祝他幸福。
　　爱德华脸色一红，结结巴巴地回答了一句，听不清说的什么。埃丽诺只是随着母亲动了动嘴唇，动完之后，又巴不得自己也和他握握手。但是，已经为时过晚，她只好带着想要开诚相见的神气，重新坐下，谈起了天气。
　　玛丽安尽量退到隐蔽的地方，不让别人看见她在伤心。玛格丽特对情况有所了解，但又不全了解，她认为保持尊严是她义不容辞的责任，因此找了个离爱德华尽可能远的地方坐下，一直沉默不语。
　　埃丽诺对这干燥季节表示完喜悦之后，出现了非常糟糕的冷场。达什伍德太太打破了沉默，表示但愿爱德华离家时，费拉斯太太一切都好。爱德华慌忙作了肯定的回答。
　　再次冷场。
　　埃丽诺虽然害怕听到自己的说话声，但她还是硬着头皮说道：
　　“费拉斯太太在郎斯特普尔吗？”
　　“在郎斯特普尔！”爱德华带着惊讶的神气答道，“不，我母亲在城里。”
　　“我的意思是，”埃丽诺一面说，一面从桌上拿起针线活，“问问爱德华·费拉斯太太的情况。”
　　埃丽诺不敢抬眼看，但她母亲和玛丽安却一齐把目光投向爱德华。爱德华脸上一红，似乎有些茫然，疑惑地望了望，犹豫了一阵之后，说道：
　　“也许你指的是──我弟弟──你指的是—─罗伯特．费拉斯太太。”
　　“罗伯特．费拉斯太太！”玛丽安和母亲带着极为惊奇的语气重复说道。埃丽诺虽然说不出话来，她的眼睛却带着同样急切惊奇的神情凝视着爱德华。爱德华从座位上立起身，走到窗前，显然不知如何是好。他拾起一把放在那儿的剪刀，—边说话一边乱剪，不仅把剪刀鞘剪得粉碎，把剪刀也剪坏了。这时，只听他急忙说道：
　　“也许你们还不知道──你们可能还没听说，我弟弟最近同那位二小姐──露西·斯蒂尔小姐—─结婚了。”
　　在场的人，除埃丽诺之外，都带着不可言状的惊奇表情，把他的话重复了一遍。埃丽诺一头俯在针线活上，只觉心情过于激动，简直不知道自己呆在哪里。
　　“是的，”爱德华说，“他们是上星期结婚的，现在在道利希。”
　　埃丽诺再也坐不住了。她几乎是跑出了房间，刚一关上门，便喜不自禁地哭了起来。她起先以为，喜悦的泪水永远也止不住了。爱德华本来始终没有朝她那里看，直到那时，他才瞧见她急急匆匆地跑走了，也许看见——甚至听见她激动的感情，因为他紧接着就陷入沉思，任凭达什伍德太太说什么话，提什么问题，谈吐多么亲热，都无法打破这种沉思。最后，他一言不发地离开房间，朝村里走去，留下的人见他的处境发生了如此奇妙、如此突然的变化，不由得感到惊奇不已，大惑不解——而这种困惑之感，除了凭借她们自己的猜测之外，没有别的办法可以消释。 　
  
回复 引用 新鲜事
顶端
narcis

ZxID：9184039

763474鲜花 75鸡蛋

等级: 派派版主
一二三四五六七~~~
举报 只看该作者 48楼  发表于: 2013-10-30 0
Chapter forty-seven

Mrs. Dashwood did not hear unmoved the vindication of her former favourite. She rejoiced in his being cleared from some part of his imputed guilt;—she was sorry for him;—she wished him happy. But the feelings of the past could not be recalled.—Nothing could restore him with a faith unbroken—a character unblemished, to Marianne. Nothing could do away the knowledge of what the latter had suffered through his means, nor remove the guilt of his conduct towards Eliza. Nothing could replace him, therefore, in her former esteem, nor injure the interests of Colonel Brandon.

Had Mrs. Dashwood, like her daughter, heard Willoughby's story from himself—had she witnessed his distress, and been under the influence of his countenance and his manner, it is probable that her compassion would have been greater. But it was neither in Elinor's power, nor in her wish, to rouse such feelings in another, by her retailed explanation, as had at first been called forth in herself. Reflection had given calmness to her judgment, and sobered her own opinion of Willoughby's deserts;—she wished, therefore, to declare only the simple truth, and lay open such facts as were really due to his character, without any embellishment of tenderness to lead the fancy astray.

In the evening, when they were all three together, Marianne began voluntarily to speak of him again;—but that it was not without an effort, the restless, unquiet thoughtfulness in which she had been for some time previously sitting—her rising colour, as she spoke,—and her unsteady voice, plainly shewed.

"I wish to assure you both," said she, "that I see every thing—as you can desire me to do."

Mrs. Dashwood would have interrupted her instantly with soothing tenderness, had not Elinor, who really wished to hear her sister's unbiased opinion, by an eager sign, engaged her silence. Marianne slowly continued—

"It is a great relief to me—what Elinor told me this morning—I have now heard exactly what I wished to hear."—For some moments her voice was lost; but recovering herself, she added, and with greater calmness than before—"I am now perfectly satisfied, I wish for no change. I never could have been happy with him, after knowing, as sooner or later I must have known, all this.—I should have had no confidence, no esteem. Nothing could have done it away to my feelings."

"I know it—I know it," cried her mother. "Happy with a man of libertine practices!—With one who so injured the peace of the dearest of our friends, and the best of men!—No—my Marianne has not a heart to be made happy with such a man!—Her conscience, her sensitive conscience, would have felt all that the conscience of her husband ought to have felt."

Marianne sighed, and repeated, "I wish for no change."

"You consider the matter," said Elinor, "exactly as a good mind and a sound understanding must consider it; and I dare say you perceive, as well as myself, not only in this, but in many other circumstances, reason enough to be convinced that your marriage must have involved you in many certain troubles and disappointments, in which you would have been poorly supported by an affection, on his side, much less certain. Had you married, you must have been always poor. His expensiveness is acknowledged even by himself, and his whole conduct declares that self-denial is a word hardly understood by him. His demands and your inexperience together, on a small, very small income, must have brought on distresses which would not be the less grievous to you, from having been entirely unknown and unthought of before. Your sense of honour and honesty would have led you, I know, when aware of your situation, to attempt all the economy that would appear to you possible: and, perhaps, as long as your frugality retrenched only on your own comfort, you might have been suffered to practice it, but beyond that—and how little could the utmost of your single management do to stop the ruin which had begun before your marriage?— Beyond that, had you endeavoured, however reasonably, to abridge his enjoyments, is it not to be feared, that instead of prevailing on feelings so selfish to consent to it, you would have lessened your own influence on his heart, and made him regret the connection which had involved him in such difficulties?"

Marianne's lips quivered, and she repeated the word "Selfish?" in a tone that implied—"do you really think him selfish?"

"The whole of his behaviour," replied Elinor, "from the beginning to the end of the affair, has been grounded on selfishness. It was selfishness which first made him sport with your affections; which afterwards, when his own were engaged, made him delay the confession of it, and which finally carried him from Barton. His own enjoyment, or his own ease, was, in every particular, his ruling principle."

"It is very true. MY happiness never was his object."

"At present," continued Elinor, "he regrets what he has done. And why does he regret it?—Because he finds it has not answered towards himself. It has not made him happy. His circumstances are now unembarrassed—he suffers from no evil of that kind; and he thinks only that he has married a woman of a less amiable temper than yourself. But does it follow that had he married you, he would have been happy?—The inconveniences would have been different. He would then have suffered under the pecuniary distresses which, because they are removed, he now reckons as nothing. He would have had a wife of whose temper he could make no complaint, but he would have been always necessitous—always poor; and probably would soon have learned to rank the innumerable comforts of a clear estate and good income as of far more importance, even to domestic happiness, than the mere temper of a wife."

"I have not a doubt of it," said Marianne; "and I have nothing to regret—nothing but my own folly."

"Rather say your mother's imprudence, my child," said Mrs. Dashwood; "SHE must be answerable."

Marianne would not let her proceed;—and Elinor, satisfied that each felt their own error, wished to avoid any survey of the past that might weaken her sister's spirits; she, therefore, pursuing the first subject, immediately continued,

"One observation may, I think, be fairly drawn from the whole of the story—that all Willoughby's difficulties have arisen from the first offence against virtue, in his behaviour to Eliza Williams. That crime has been the origin of every lesser one, and of all his present discontents."

Marianne assented most feelingly to the remark; and her mother was led by it to an enumeration of Colonel Brandon's injuries and merits, warm as friendship and design could unitedly dictate. Her daughter did not look, however, as if much of it were heard by her.

Elinor, according to her expectation, saw on the two or three following days, that Marianne did not continue to gain strength as she had done; but while her resolution was unsubdued, and she still tried to appear cheerful and easy, her sister could safely trust to the effect of time upon her health.

Margaret returned, and the family were again all restored to each other, again quietly settled at the cottage; and if not pursuing their usual studies with quite so much vigour as when they first came to Barton, at least planning a vigorous prosecution of them in future.

Elinor grew impatient for some tidings of Edward. She had heard nothing of him since her leaving London, nothing new of his plans, nothing certain even of his present abode. Some letters had passed between her and her brother, in consequence of Marianne's illness; and in the first of John's, there had been this sentence:— "We know nothing of our unfortunate Edward, and can make no enquiries on so prohibited a subject, but conclude him to be still at Oxford;" which was all the intelligence of Edward afforded her by the correspondence, for his name was not even mentioned in any of the succeeding letters. She was not doomed, however, to be long in ignorance of his measures.

Their man-servant had been sent one morning to Exeter on business; and when, as he waited at table, he had satisfied the inquiries of his mistress as to the event of his errand, this was his voluntary communication—

"I suppose you know, ma'am, that Mr. Ferrars is married."

Marianne gave a violent start, fixed her eyes upon Elinor, saw her turning pale, and fell back in her chair in hysterics. Mrs. Dashwood, whose eyes, as she answered the servant's inquiry, had intuitively taken the same direction, was shocked to perceive by Elinor's countenance how much she really suffered, and a moment afterwards, alike distressed by Marianne's situation, knew not on which child to bestow her principal attention.

The servant, who saw only that Miss Marianne was taken ill, had sense enough to call one of the maids, who, with Mrs. Dashwood's assistance, supported her into the other room. By that time, Marianne was rather better, and her mother leaving her to the care of Margaret and the maid, returned to Elinor, who, though still much disordered, had so far recovered the use of her reason and voice as to be just beginning an inquiry of Thomas, as to the source of his intelligence. Mrs. Dashwood immediately took all that trouble on herself; and Elinor had the benefit of the information without the exertion of seeking it.

"Who told you that Mr. Ferrars was married, Thomas?"

"I see Mr. Ferrars myself, ma'am, this morning in Exeter, and his lady too, Miss Steele as was. They was stopping in a chaise at the door of the New London Inn, as I went there with a message from Sally at the Park to her brother, who is one of the post-boys. I happened to look up as I went by the chaise, and so I see directly it was the youngest Miss Steele; so I took off my hat, and she knew me and called to me, and inquired after you, ma'am, and the young ladies, especially Miss Marianne, and bid me I should give her compliments and Mr. Ferrars's, their best compliments and service, and how sorry they was they had not time to come on and see you, but they was in a great hurry to go forwards, for they was going further down for a little while, but howsever, when they come back, they'd make sure to come and see you."

"But did she tell you she was married, Thomas?"

"Yes, ma'am. She smiled, and said how she had changed her name since she was in these parts. She was always a very affable and free-spoken young lady, and very civil behaved. So, I made free to wish her joy."

"Was Mr. Ferrars in the carriage with her?"

"Yes, ma'am, I just see him leaning back in it, but he did not look up;—he never was a gentleman much for talking."

Elinor's heart could easily account for his not putting himself forward; and Mrs. Dashwood probably found the same explanation.

"Was there no one else in the carriage?"

"No, ma'am, only they two."

"Do you know where they came from?"

"They come straight from town, as Miss Lucy— Mrs. Ferrars told me."

"And are they going farther westward?"

"Yes, ma'am—but not to bide long. They will soon be back again, and then they'd be sure and call here."

Mrs. Dashwood now looked at her daughter; but Elinor knew better than to expect them. She recognised the whole of Lucy in the message, and was very confident that Edward would never come near them. She observed in a low voice, to her mother, that they were probably going down to Mr. Pratt's, near Plymouth.

Thomas's intelligence seemed over. Elinor looked as if she wished to hear more.

"Did you see them off, before you came away?"

"No, ma'am—the horses were just coming out, but I could not bide any longer; I was afraid of being late."

"Did Mrs. Ferrars look well?"

"Yes, ma'am, she said how she was very well; and to my mind she was always a very handsome young lady—and she seemed vastly contented."

Mrs. Dashwood could think of no other question, and Thomas and the tablecloth, now alike needless, were soon afterwards dismissed. Marianne had already sent to say, that she should eat nothing more. Mrs. Dashwood's and Elinor's appetites were equally lost, and Margaret might think herself very well off, that with so much uneasiness as both her sisters had lately experienced, so much reason as they had often had to be careless of their meals, she had never been obliged to go without her dinner before.

When the dessert and the wine were arranged, and Mrs. Dashwood and Elinor were left by themselves, they remained long together in a similarity of thoughtfulness and silence. Mrs. Dashwood feared to hazard any remark, and ventured not to offer consolation. She now found that she had erred in relying on Elinor's representation of herself; and justly concluded that every thing had been expressly softened at the time, to spare her from an increase of unhappiness, suffering as she then had suffered for Marianne. She found that she had been misled by the careful, the considerate attention of her daughter, to think the attachment, which once she had so well understood, much slighter in reality, than she had been wont to believe, or than it was now proved to be. She feared that under this persuasion she had been unjust, inattentive, nay, almost unkind, to her Elinor;—that Marianne's affliction, because more acknowledged, more immediately before her, had too much engrossed her tenderness, and led her away to forget that in Elinor she might have a daughter suffering almost as much, certainly with less self-provocation, and greater fortitude.



　　达什伍德太太听到她以前的宠儿的辩词，心里不无感触。使她感到高兴的是，转嫁给威洛比的部分罪过得到洗刷。她为他感到惋惜，并且祝他幸福。但是，过去的感情是无可挽回了。任何东西也恢复不了玛丽安对他的完全信任，不会再认为他的人格完美无瑕。任何东西也抹杀不了玛丽安因为他而遭受痛苦的事实，抹杀不了他对伊丽莎犯下的罪过。因此，任何东西也不会使他再像过去那样受到玛丽安的器重，同时也损害不了布兰登上校的利益。
　　假若达什伍德太太能像女儿那样，亲自听到威洛比的申述——亲眼目睹他的痛苦状态，领受一下他那神情举止的感染，那她很可能更加怜悯他。但是，埃丽诺既没有这个能力，也没有这个愿望，通过详细叙说去激发母亲也产生她自己起先产生的那种感情。经过再三考虑，她心里变得镇定下来，对威洛比的功过有了清醒的认识。因此，她想只是简单说明一下真情，透露一些与他的人格真正有关的事实，不能大发善心地添枝加叶，以免惹得母亲想入非非。
　　晚上，大家聚到一起的时候，玛丽安又主动说起威洛比。但是这并非毫不费力，她先是坐在那里忐忑不安地沉思了半晌，后来一开口，脸卜泛起红晕，声音颤颤抖抖。
　　“我想向你们俩保证，”她说，“正像你们希望的那样，我一切都明白了。”
　　达什伍德太太刚想打断她，以便用好言安抚两句，不料埃丽诺还真想听听妹妹的公正意见。她急忙做了个手势，母亲才没出声。玛丽安慢吞吞地继续说道：
　　“埃丽诺今天早晨告诉我的话，使我感到极大的宽慰。现在，我终于听到了我一心想听的话。”霎时间，她的声音哽住了；但她立即恢复了镇静，更加心平气和地接着说道：“我现在感到绝对满意。我不希望有什么变化。我知道这一切之后（这我迟早总会知道的），再和他在一起是决不会幸福的。我决不会信任他，尊重他。任何东西也无法消除我的这种情感。”
　　“这我知道，我知道，”母亲嚷道，“和一个行为放荡的人在一起哪能幸福！他破坏了我们最亲爱的朋友、也是天下最好的人的安宁，谁能和他在一起？不——我的玛丽安犯不着让这样一个人给她带来幸福！她的良心，她的敏感的良心，会感到她的丈夫应该感到而没有感到的情感。”
　　玛丽安叹口气，重复了一句：“我不希望有什么变化。”
　　“你考虑问题，”埃丽诺说，“和一个有头脑、有见识的人应该做的完全一样。大概你和我一样，不只从这一事件，还从许多其他事件里悟出了—定的道理，以至于认识到：你若是同他结了婚，肯定会陷入重重困难，感到百般失望。在这种情况下，凭着他那反复无常的感情，那是维持不下去的。你倘若结了婚，肯定一直是个穷光蛋。他花起钱来大手大脚，这连他自己也供认不讳。他的整个行为表明，他简直不知道什么叫自我节制。就凭着那么一点点收入，他的需求量那么大，你又缺乏经验，一定会引起不少痛苦。这些痛苦决不会因为你事先完全没有想到而减轻几分。我知道，你一旦认识到自己的处境，你的自尊和诚实感会促使你厉行节约。也许，当你只是对自己节衣缩食的时候，你还可以尽量节省，但是超出这个限度，—─况且，你就是一个人节省到最大限度，你也无法阻止你们结婚前就已开始的倾家荡产！超出这个限度，假如你试图要减少他的物质享受，也不管多么合情合理，难道你就不担心，你非但不能说服具有如此自私之心的人表示赞同，反而会使你驾驭不住他的心，让他后悔不该和你结婚，认为和你结婚才使他陷入这样的困境？”
　　玛丽安的嘴唇颤抖了一下，她重复了一声“自私”这两个字，听语气意思是说：“你真认为他自私吗？”
　　“他的整个行为，”埃丽诺答道，“自始至终都建立在自私的基础上。正因为自私，他先是玩弄了你的感情——后来，当他自己也倾心于你的时候，又迟迟不肯表白，最后又离开了巴顿。他自己的享乐，他自己的安适，这是他高于一切的指导原则。”，
　　“确实如此。他从来没把我的幸福放在心上。”
　　“现在，”埃丽诺接下去说，“他对自己的所作所为感到懊悔。他为什么要懊悔呢？因为他发现事情不合他的心意，没使他感到幸福，他现在的境况并不窘迫——他还没有遭到这样的不幸，他只是觉得他娶了一个性情不及你温存的女人。然而，这是不是意味着他娶了你就会幸福呢？那会出现别的麻烦。他会为金钱问题感到苦恼。目前只是因为不存在这个问题，他才认为无所谓，他本来想娶一个性情上无可指摘的妻子，但是那样一来他会永远陷入贫困。他也许很快就会觉得：即使对家庭幸福来说，一宗不纳税的田产和一笔可观的收入能带来无穷无尽的物质享受，要比妻子的脾气重要得多。”
　　“这我毫不怀疑，”玛丽安说，“我没有什么好懊悔的—一只恨自己太傻。”
　　“应该怨你母亲不慎重，孩子，”达什伍德太太说，“我该负责任。”
　　玛丽安不想让母亲说下去。埃丽诺对两人都引咎自责感到高兴，便想避而不再追究过去，以免削弱妹妹的兴致。于是，她又继续抓住第一个话题，马上接下去说道：
　　“我想，从整个事件中可以公平地得出—个结论——威洛比的—切麻烦都起因于他最初对伊丽莎．威廉斯的不道德行为。这一罪恶是他一切较小罪过的根源，也是他现在满腹怨艾的根源。”
　　玛丽安深有感触地赞同这一说法。母亲听后就数说起布兰登上校受了多少多少冤屈，又有多少多少美德，那个热烈劲儿只有友情和有意交织在一起，才能表现出来。可是看样子，女儿像是没有听见多少似的。
　　果然不出埃丽诺所料，她在随后两三天里发现，玛丽安不像过去那样在继续增强体质。但是，她的决心并未动摇，她仍然显得很高兴，很平静，做姐姐的尽可放心，她的身体随着时间的推移总会好起来的。
　　玛格丽特回来了，一家人又聚到—起，在乡舍里重新安定下来。如果说她们学习起来不像初来巴顿时那么劲头十足，她们至少在计划将来要努力学习。
　　埃丽诺一心急于得到爱德华的音信。自从离开伦敦以来，她—直没有听到他的消息，不知道他有什么新的打算，甚至不知道他现在的确凿地址。因为玛丽安生病的缘故，她与哥哥通了几封信。约翰的头封信里，有这么一句话：“我们对不幸的爱德华一无所知，也不敢违禁查问，不过断定他还在牛津。”这是他来信中提供的有关爱德华的全部消息，因为他以后的几封信里甚至连爱德华的名字都没提到。不过，埃丽诺并非注定要对爱德华的行止长此无知下去。
　　一天早晨，她家的男仆奉命去埃克塞特出了一趟差。归来后伺候进餐的时候，女主人问他出差时听到了什么新闻，他顺口回答说：
　　“太太，我想你知道费拉斯先生结婚了。”
　　玛丽安猛地一惊，将眼睛盯住埃丽诺，只见她面色苍白，便歇斯底里似的倒在椅子上。达什伍德太太回答仆人的询问时，目光也不由自主地朝同一方向望去。她从埃丽诺的脸上看出她十分痛苦，不禁大为震惊，随即又见玛丽安处于那副状态，使她同样感到十分悲痛。一时间，她不知道应该主要照顾哪个女儿为是。
　　男仆只看见玛丽安小姐有病，还知道去唤来一位女仆。女仆和达什伍德太太一起，把小姐扶进另一房间。此时，玛丽安已经大为好转，母亲把她交给玛格丽特和女仆照料，自己回到埃丽诺面前。埃丽诺虽然心里还很混乱，但她已经恢复了理智，而且也能说话了，现在正开始询问托马斯，他的消息是从哪里得来的。达什伍德太太立即把这事揽了过去，于是埃丽诺便不费口舌地知道了端倪。
　　“托马斯，谁告诉你费拉斯先生结婚了？”
　　“太太，我今天早晨在埃克塞特亲眼见到费拉斯先生，还有他的太太，就是斯蒂尔小姐。他们乘坐一辆四轮马车，停在新伦敦旅馆门前，我也正好从巴顿庄园到那里，替萨莉给她当邮差的兄弟送封信。我走过那辆马车的时候，碰巧抬头望了望，当即发现是斯蒂尔府上的二小姐。我摘下帽子向她致意，她认识我，把我叫住了，问起了太太您的情况，还问起了几位小姐，特别是玛丽安小姐，吩咐我代她和费拉斯先生向你们表示问候，衷心的问候和敬意。还说他们非常抱歉，没有工夫来看望你们——他们还急着往前走，因为他们还要赶一程路——不过回来的时候，一定要来看望你们。”
　　“可是，托马斯，她告诉你她结婚了吗？”
　　“是的，太太。她笑嘻嘻地对我说，她一到了这块地方就改名换姓了。她素来是个和蔼可亲、心直口快的年轻小姐，待人客客气气的。于是，我冒昧地祝她幸福。”
　　“费拉斯先生是不是和她一道坐在马车里？”
　　“是的，太太。我看见他仰靠在里面，但是没有抬头，他从来都是个言语不多的先生。”
　　埃丽诺心里不难说明他为什么不向前探身，达什伍德太太可能找到了同一解释。
　　“车里没有别人吗？”
　　“没有，太太，就他们俩。”
　　“你知道他们从哪儿来的吗？”
　　“他们直接从城里来的，这是露西小姐——费拉斯夫人告诉我的。”
　　“他们还要往西走？”
　　“是的，太太——不过不会呆得很久。他们很快就会回来，那时候肯定会到这里来。”
　　达什伍德太太看看女儿。可是埃丽诺心里有数，知道他们不会来。她听了这个消息，就把露西这个人彻底看透了，她也深信爱德华决不会再接近她们。她轻声对母亲说：他们大概要去普利茅斯附近的普赖特先生家。
　　托马斯的消息似乎说完了。看样子，埃丽诺还想多听点。
　　“你走开以前看见他们出发了没有？”
　　“没有，小姐——马刚刚牵出来，我不能再停留了，我怕误事。”
　　“费拉斯夫人看上去身体好吗？”
　　“是的，小姐，她说她身体好极了。在我看来，她一向是个非常漂亮的小姐—一她好像非常称心如意。”
　　达什伍德太太想不起别的问题了，托马斯也好，台布也好，现在都不需要了，她便立即让他拿走了。玛丽安早就打发人来说过，她不想吃饭。达什伍德太太和埃丽诺同样没有胃口。玛格丽特或许会觉得，两个姐姐最近搞得心神不定，总是有那么多理由动不动就不吃饭，她自己倒真够幸运，还从来没有迫不得已挨过饿呢。
　　等甜点和酒摆上桌，桌前只剩下达什伍德太太和埃丽诺两个人。她们在一起呆了很长时间，都在沉思默想，达什伍德太太唯恐出言有失，不敢贸然安慰女儿。她现在发现，她过去相信埃丽诺的自我说明是错误的。她得出这样的公正结论：因为她当时已经为玛丽安吃尽了苦头，为了不给她增添痛苦，埃丽诺显然把一切都作了轻描淡写。她发现，她本来很了解埃丽诺和爱德华之间的感情，但是埃丽诺的小心体贴使她得出了错误的结论，认为他们的感情实际上比她原先想象的淡薄得多，也比现在所证实的淡薄得多。她担心，照这样说来，她对她的埃丽诺有失公道，有失体谅——不，简直有失仁慈，──玛丽安的痛苦，因为她认识到了，而旦就摆在她的眼前，便使她深情倾注，从而忘记埃丽诺可能忍受着同样大的痛苦，当然只不过她更能克制，更有毅力罢了。 　
  
回复 引用 新鲜事
顶端
narcis

ZxID：9184039

763474鲜花 75鸡蛋

等级: 派派版主
一二三四五六七~~~
举报 只看该作者 47楼  发表于: 2013-10-30 0
Chapter forty-six

Marianne's illness, though weakening in its kind, had not been long enough to make her recovery slow; and with youth, natural strength, and her mother's presence in aid, it proceeded so smoothly as to enable her to remove, within four days after the arrival of the latter, into Mrs. Palmer's dressing-room. When there, at her own particular request, for she was impatient to pour forth her thanks to him for fetching her mother, Colonel Brandon was invited to visit her.

His emotion on entering the room, in seeing her altered looks, and in receiving the pale hand which she immediately held out to him, was such, as, in Elinor's conjecture, must arise from something more than his affection for Marianne, or the consciousness of its being known to others; and she soon discovered in his melancholy eye and varying complexion as he looked at her sister, the probable recurrence of many past scenes of misery to his mind, brought back by that resemblance between Marianne and Eliza already acknowledged, and now strengthened by the hollow eye, the sickly skin, the posture of reclining weakness, and the warm acknowledgment of peculiar obligation.

Mrs. Dashwood, not less watchful of what passed than her daughter, but with a mind very differently influenced, and therefore watching to very different effect, saw nothing in the Colonel's behaviour but what arose from the most simple and self-evident sensations, while in the actions and words of Marianne she persuaded herself to think that something more than gratitude already dawned.

At the end of another day or two, Marianne growing visibly stronger every twelve hours, Mrs. Dashwood, urged equally by her own and her daughter's wishes, began to talk of removing to Barton. On her measures depended those of her two friends; Mrs. Jennings could not quit Cleveland during the Dashwoods' stay; and Colonel Brandon was soon brought, by their united request, to consider his own abode there as equally determinate, if not equally indispensable. At his and Mrs. Jennings's united request in return, Mrs. Dashwood was prevailed on to accept the use of his carriage on her journey back, for the better accommodation of her sick child; and the Colonel, at the joint invitation of Mrs. Dashwood and Mrs. Jennings, whose active good-nature made her friendly and hospitable for other people as well as herself, engaged with pleasure to redeem it by a visit at the cottage, in the course of a few weeks.

The day of separation and departure arrived; and Marianne, after taking so particular and lengthened a leave of Mrs. Jennings, one so earnestly grateful, so full of respect and kind wishes as seemed due to her own heart from a secret acknowledgment of past inattention, and bidding Colonel Brandon farewell with a cordiality of a friend, was carefully assisted by him into the carriage, of which he seemed anxious that she should engross at least half. Mrs. Dashwood and Elinor then followed, and the others were left by themselves, to talk of the travellers, and feel their own dullness, till Mrs. Jennings was summoned to her chaise to take comfort in the gossip of her maid for the loss of her two young companions; and Colonel Brandon immediately afterwards took his solitary way to Delaford.

The Dashwoods were two days on the road, and Marianne bore her journey on both, without essential fatigue. Every thing that the most zealous affection, the most solicitous care could do to render her comfortable, was the office of each watchful companion, and each found their reward in her bodily ease, and her calmness of spirits. To Elinor, the observation of the latter was particularly grateful. She, who had seen her week after week so constantly suffering, oppressed by anguish of heart which she had neither courage to speak of, nor fortitude to conceal, now saw with a joy, which no other could equally share, an apparent composure of mind, which, in being the result as she trusted of serious reflection, must eventually lead her to contentment and cheerfulness.

As they approached Barton, indeed, and entered on scenes of which every field and every tree brought some peculiar, some painful recollection, she grew silent and thoughtful, and turning away her face from their notice, sat earnestly gazing through the window. But here, Elinor could neither wonder nor blame; and when she saw, as she assisted Marianne from the carriage, that she had been crying, she saw only an emotion too natural in itself to raise any thing less tender than pity, and in its unobtrusiveness entitled to praise. In the whole of her subsequent manner, she traced the direction of a mind awakened to reasonable exertion; for no sooner had they entered their common sitting-room, than Marianne turned her eyes around it with a look of resolute firmness, as if determined at once to accustom herself to the sight of every object with which the remembrance of Willoughby could be connected.—She said little, but every sentence aimed at cheerfulness, and though a sigh sometimes escaped her, it never passed away without the atonement of a smile. After dinner she would try her piano-forte. She went to it; but the music on which her eye first rested was an opera, procured for her by Willoughby, containing some of their favourite duets, and bearing on its outward leaf her own name in his hand-writing.—That would not do.—She shook her head, put the music aside, and after running over the keys for a minute, complained of feebleness in her fingers, and closed the instrument again; declaring however with firmness as she did so, that she should in future practice much.

The next morning produced no abatement in these happy symptoms. On the contrary, with a mind and body alike strengthened by rest, she looked and spoke with more genuine spirit, anticipating the pleasure of Margaret's return, and talking of the dear family party which would then be restored, of their mutual pursuits and cheerful society, as the only happiness worth a wish.

"When the weather is settled, and I have recovered my strength," said she, "we will take long walks together every day. We will walk to the farm at the edge of the down, and see how the children go on; we will walk to Sir John's new plantations at Barton Cross, and the Abbeyland; and we will often go the old ruins of the Priory, and try to trace its foundations as far as we are told they once reached. I know we shall be happy. I know the summer will pass happily away. I mean never to be later in rising than six, and from that time till dinner I shall divide every moment between music and reading. I have formed my plan, and am determined to enter on a course of serious study. Our own library is too well known to me, to be resorted to for any thing beyond mere amusement. But there are many works well worth reading at the Park; and there are others of more modern production which I know I can borrow of Colonel Brandon. By reading only six hours a-day, I shall gain in the course of a twelve-month a great deal of instruction which I now feel myself to want."

Elinor honoured her for a plan which originated so nobly as this; though smiling to see the same eager fancy which had been leading her to the extreme of languid indolence and selfish repining, now at work in introducing excess into a scheme of such rational employment and virtuous self-control. Her smile however changed to a sigh when she remembered that promise to Willoughby was yet unfulfilled, and feared she had that to communicate which might again unsettle the mind of Marianne, and ruin at least for a time this fair prospect of busy tranquillity. Willing therefore to delay the evil hour, she resolved to wait till her sister's health were more secure, before she appointed it. But the resolution was made only to be broken.

Marianne had been two or three days at home, before the weather was fine enough for an invalid like herself to venture out. But at last a soft, genial morning appeared; such as might tempt the daughter's wishes and the mother's confidence; and Marianne, leaning on Elinor's arm, was authorised to walk as long as she could without fatigue, in the lane before the house.

The sisters set out at a pace, slow as the feebleness of Marianne in an exercise hitherto untried since her illness required;—and they had advanced only so far beyond the house as to admit a full view of the hill, the important hill behind, when pausing with her eyes turned towards it, Marianne calmly said,

"There, exactly there,"—pointing with one hand, "on that projecting mound,—there I fell; and there I first saw Willoughby."

Her voice sunk with the word, but presently reviving she added,

"I am thankful to find that I can look with so little pain on the spot!—shall we ever talk on that subject, Elinor?"—hesitatingly it was said.—"Or will it be wrong?—I can talk of it now, I hope, as I ought to do."—

Elinor tenderly invited her to be open.

"As for regret," said Marianne, "I have done with that, as far as HE is concerned. I do not mean to talk to you of what my feelings have been for him, but what they are now.—At present, if I could be satisfied on one point, if I could be allowed to think that he was not always acting a part, not always deceiving me;—but above all, if I could be assured that he never was so very wicked as my fears have sometimes fancied him, since the story of that unfortunate girl"—

She stopt. Elinor joyfully treasured her words as she answered,

"If you could be assured of that, you think you should be easy."

"Yes. My peace of mind is doubly involved in it;—for not only is it horrible to suspect a person, who has been what he has been to me, of such designs,—but what must it make me appear to myself?—What in a situation like mine, but a most shamefully unguarded affection could expose me to"—

"How then," asked her sister, "would you account for his behaviour?"

"I would suppose him,—Oh, how gladly would I suppose him, only fickle, very, very fickle."

Elinor said no more. She was debating within herself on the eligibility of beginning her story directly, or postponing it till Marianne were in stronger health;—and they crept on for a few minutes in silence.

"I am not wishing him too much good," said Marianne at last with a sigh, "when I wish his secret reflections may be no more unpleasant than my own. He will suffer enough in them."

"Do you compare your conduct with his?"

"No. I compare it with what it ought to have been; I compare it with yours."

"Our situations have borne little resemblance."

"They have borne more than our conduct.—Do not, my dearest Elinor, let your kindness defend what I know your judgment must censure. My illness has made me think— It has given me leisure and calmness for serious recollection. Long before I was enough recovered to talk, I was perfectly able to reflect. I considered the past: I saw in my own behaviour, since the beginning of our acquaintance with him last autumn, nothing but a series of imprudence towards myself, and want of kindness to others. I saw that my own feelings had prepared my sufferings, and that my want of fortitude under them had almost led me to the grave. My illness, I well knew, had been entirely brought on by myself by such negligence of my own health, as I had felt even at the time to be wrong. Had I died,—it would have been self-destruction. I did not know my danger till the danger was removed; but with such feelings as these reflections gave me, I wonder at my recovery,—wonder that the very eagerness of my desire to live, to have time for atonement to my God, and to you all, did not kill me at once. Had I died,— in what peculiar misery should I have left you, my nurse, my friend, my sister!—You, who had seen all the fretful selfishness of my latter days; who had known all the murmurings of my heart!—How should I have lived in your remembrance!—My mother too! How could you have consoled her!—I cannot express my own abhorrence of myself. Whenever I looked towards the past, I saw some duty neglected, or some failing indulged. Every body seemed injured by me. The kindness, the unceasing kindness of Mrs. Jennings, I had repaid with ungrateful contempt. To the Middletons, to the Palmers, the Steeles, to every common acquaintance even, I had been insolent and unjust; with a heart hardened against their merits, and a temper irritated by their very attention.—To John, to Fanny,—yes, even to them, little as they deserve, I had given less than their due. But you,—you above all, above my mother, had been wronged by me. I, and only I, knew your heart and its sorrows; yet to what did it influence me?—not to any compassion that could benefit you or myself.—Your example was before me; but to what avail?—Was I more considerate of you and your comfort? Did I imitate your forbearance, or lessen your restraints, by taking any part in those offices of general complaisance or particular gratitude which you had hitherto been left to discharge alone?—No;—not less when I knew you to be unhappy, than when I had believed you at ease, did I turn away from every exertion of duty or friendship; scarcely allowing sorrow to exist but with me, regretting only that heart which had deserted and wronged me, and leaving you, for or I professed an unbounded affection, to be miserable for my sake."

Here ceased the rapid flow of her self-reproving spirit; and Elinor, impatient to soothe, though too honest to flatter, gave her instantly that praise and support which her frankness and her contrition so well deserved. Marianne pressed her hand and replied,

"You are very good.—The future must be my proof. I have laid down my plan, and if I am capable of adhering to it—my feelings shall be governed and my temper improved. They shall no longer worry others, nor torture myself. I shall now live solely for my family. You, my mother, and Margaret, must henceforth be all the world to me; you will share my affections entirely between you. From you, from my home, I shall never again have the smallest incitement to move; and if I do mix in other society, it will be only to shew that my spirit is humbled, my heart amended, and that I can practise the civilities, the lesser duties of life, with gentleness and forbearance. As for Willoughby—to say that I shall soon or that I shall ever forget him, would be idle. His remembrance can be overcome by no change of circumstances or opinions. But it shall be regulated, it shall be checked by religion, by reason, by constant employment."

She paused—and added in a low voice, "If I could but know HIS heart, everything would become easy."

Elinor, who had now been for some time reflecting on the propriety or impropriety of speedily hazarding her narration, without feeling at all nearer decision than at first, heard this; and perceiving that as reflection did nothing, resolution must do all, soon found herself leading to the fact.

She managed the recital, as she hoped, with address; prepared her anxious listener with caution; related simply and honestly the chief points on which Willoughby grounded his apology; did justice to his repentance, and softened only his protestations of present regard. Marianne said not a word.—She trembled, her eyes were fixed on the ground, and her lips became whiter than even sickness had left them. A thousand inquiries sprung up from her heart, but she dared not urge one. She caught every syllable with panting eagerness; her hand, unknowingly to herself, closely pressed her sister's, and tears covered her cheeks.

Elinor, dreading her being tired, led her towards home; and till they reached the door of the cottage, easily conjecturing what her curiosity must be though no question was suffered to speak it, talked of nothing but Willoughby, and their conversation together; and was carefully minute in every particular of speech and look, where minuteness could be safely indulged. As soon as they entered the house, Marianne with a kiss of gratitude and these two words just articulate through her tears, "Tell mama," withdrew from her sister and walked slowly up stairs. Elinor would not attempt to disturb a solitude so reasonable as what she now sought; and with a mind anxiously pre-arranging its result, and a resolution of reviving the subject again, should Marianne fail to do it, she turned into the parlour to fulfill her parting injunction.



　　玛丽安的这场病虽说很伤元气，但是好在发病时间不长，复元起来不是很慢。她年轻，体质好，再加上有母亲直接护理，康复得十分顺利。母亲到后第四天，她就得以迁进帕尔默夫人的化妆室。一到这里，她就迫不及待地想对布兰登上校接来母亲一事向他致谢，于是，经她特别要求，上校应邀来看她。
　　上校走进房来，见到她那变了样的面容，抓住了她立即伸出来的苍白的手。他此时此刻的激动心情，照埃丽诺推测，不仅仅出自他对玛丽安的钟情，也不仅仅出自他知道别人了解他有这番钟情。埃丽诺很快发现，他看她妹妹的时候，眼神是忧郁的，脸色也在不断变化，大概是过去的许多悲惨情景重新浮现在他的脑际，他早已看出了玛丽安与伊丽莎彼此很相似，现在再见到她那空虚的眼神、苍白的皮肤、孱弱无力地斜卧着的体态，以及对他感恩戴德的热情劲头，进一步增强了她们之间的相似之感。
　　达什伍德太太对这幕情景的留神程度并不亚于大女儿，但是由于看法大不一样，因而观察的结果也大相径庭。她对上校的举动，只能看到那些最简单、最明确的感情流露，而见了玛丽安的言谈举止，却要极力使自己相信，她流露出来的感情已经超出了感激的范畴。
　　又过了一两天，玛丽安的身体越来越健壮，真是半天就换一个样子。达什伍德太太在自己和女儿的愿望的驱使下，开始说起要回巴顿。她作何安排，决定着她两位朋友的安排，因为詹宁斯太太在达什伍健母女逗留期间是不能离开克利夫兰的，而布兰登上校经她们一致要求，也很快认识到，他陪在那里虽说不是同样义不容辞，却是同样理所当然。反过来，经他和詹宁斯太太一起要求，达什伍德太太终于同意回去时乘用他的马车，以便使她生病的女儿路上走得舒适些。而上校在达什伍德太太和詹宁斯太太的联合邀请下（詹宁斯太太性情善良活跃，不仅自己殷勤好客，而且还代别人表示殷勤好客），高兴地答应在几周时间内拜访乡舍，答谢盛情。
　　离别的那天来到了。玛丽安特别向詹宁斯太太道别了好半天—一她是那样诚恳，那样感激，话里充满了敬意和祝愿，好像在暗中承认自己过去有所怠慢似的一一随即，她带着朋友般的热忱向布兰登上校告别，由他搀着小心翼翼地钻进了马车。上校似乎希望她至少要占据一半地方。接着，达什伍德太太和埃丽诺也跟着上了车。旅行者启程后，留下的人们谈论起她们，心情颇为落寞。后来詹宁斯太太被喊上自己的马车，与女仆说说闲话，为失去两位年轻朋友找点安慰。紧接着，布兰登上校也独自回德拉福去了。
　　达什伍德母女在路上旅行了两天。两天来，玛丽安经受了旅途的颠簸，并不感到十分疲倦。每个旅伴都怀着无比深厚的感情，对她密切注视，关怀备至，尽量使她感到舒服，只要她身体安适，精神镇定，人们也就得到了宽慰。对于埃丽诺来说，观察玛丽安使她感到特别愉快。几个星期以来，她看着她一直忍受着痛苦，心里的苦楚既没有勇气说出口，又没有毅力埋在心底。但现在，她带着别人无法分享的喜悦心情，看见妹妹头脑镇定下来，认为这一定是认真思索的结果，最后必将使妹妹感到满意和高兴。
　　巴顿真的临近了，映入眼帘的景致，每块田、每棵树都能勾起一段奇特的、痛楚的回忆。此刻，玛丽安陷入了沉思默想。她扭过脸去，避开众人的视线，一本正经地坐在那里朝窗外凝视。见此情景，埃丽诺既不感到诧异，又没什么好指责的。她搀扶玛丽安下车时，发现她在流泪，她认为这种激动是很自然的，完全应该同情，而她能不声不响地暗暗垂泪，却是值得赞扬的。在她随后的全部举动中，她察觉她现在能进行理智的思索了。她刚刚跨进全家共用的起居室，就带着坚定沉着的神气，环视四周，仿佛决心立即熟悉一下可以使她记起威洛比的每一件物品。她言语不多，但每句话都旨在引人高兴。虽然有时禁不住叹息一声，但每次总要补偿过错似的嫣然一笑。晚饭后，她想试着弹弹钢琴。她走过去，不料最先看到的琴谱是出歌剧，那还是威洛比替她搞来的，里面有几支他们最喜爱的二重奏曲，外页上还有由他书写的她的名字。那可不行。她摇摇头，把琴谱推到一边，刚弹奏了一会儿，就抱怨指力虚弱，只好把钢琴重新关上，不过关的时候又坚决表示，以后要多加练习。
　　第二天早晨，这种令人快乐的迹象并没减少。相反，经过休息，她的身心都得到增强，言谈举止显得更有精神。她期望玛格丽特快点回来，说起全家人又要欢聚一堂，大家同消遣，共娱乐，可谓理想中的唯一幸福。
　　“等天气晴下来，我恢复了体力之后，”玛丽安说，“我们每天一起散步，走得远远的。我们要走到丘陵边缘的农场，看看那些孩子们怎么样啦。我们要走到约翰爵士在巴顿十字口的新种植园，和修道院属地。我们还要常去小修道院遗址那里，探索一下它的地基，尽量找到我们听说的它一度达到的最大深度。我知道我们会快乐的。我知道我们会愉愉快快地度过这个夏天。我的意思是说，我们决不能晚于六点钟起床，从那时起直到吃晚饭，我要把每时每刻都用在音乐和读书上。我已经订好了计划，下定决心好好学习一番。我们自己的书房我很熟悉，除了消遣之类的书籍找不到别的书。不过，巴顿庄园有许多书很值得一读。我还知道，从布兰登上校那里可以借到更新的书。我每天只要看六个小时书，一年工夫就能获得大量我现在觉得自己所缺少的知识。”
　　埃丽诺佩服妹妹订出一项如此宏伟的计划。不过，眼看着同一种热切的幻想，过去曾经使她陷入极度懒散和任性埋怨，现在又给她的一项如此合乎情理、富于自我克制的计划安排增添了过激色彩，她不由地笑了起来。可是，转而想起还没履行她对威洛比的诺言，她的微笑又变成了一声叹息。她担心，她把那些事情一告诉玛丽安，可能再次让她心神不安，至少会暂时断送她那忙碌而平静的美好前景。因此，她还是想把这不幸的时刻向后推迟，决心等妹妹身体完全康复，再定个时间告诉她。但是决心下定后，又违背了。
　　玛丽安在家里呆了两三天，天气一直不够好，像她这样的病号哪里敢出去。不过，最后终于出现了一个和煦宜人的早晨，玛丽安获准由埃丽诺搀着，在屋前的篱路上散散步，只要不觉得疲倦走多长时间都可以。
　　妹妹俩出发了，因为玛丽安自从生病以来一直没有活动过，身体还很虚弱，所以两人不得不慢慢行走。刚走过屋角，到达可以对屋后的大山一览无余的地方，玛丽安停下脚步，举目朝山上望去，然后平静地说道：
　　“那儿，就在那儿，”玛丽安用一只手指去，“就在那道高冈上——我摔倒了，而且第一次见到了威洛比。”
　　说到最后三个字，她的声音低沉下来，但随即又恢复了正常，接着说道：
　　“我高兴地发现，我见到这个地方一点也不感到痛苦。埃丽诺，我们还能谈论这件事吗？”她这话说得有点吞吞吐吐。“还是这样谈论是错误的？我希望，我现在可以谈啦，照理也该谈谈。”
　　埃丽诺亲切地要求她有话直说。
　　“至于懊悔，”玛丽安说，“就他而论，我早已懊悔过了。我不想跟你谈论我以往对他的看法，而只想谈谈现在的看法。现在，如果有一点我可以感到满意的话——如果我可以认为他并非总是在演戏，总是在欺骗我。然而最重要的是，如果我可以相信，他从来没有像我有时想象的那样缺德透顶，因为那个不幸姑娘的遭遇——”
　　她顿住了。埃丽诺一听这话加获至宝，欣喜地答道：
　　“你若是可以相信这一点，你以为你心里就会平静啦？”
　　“是的。这对我心情的平静有着双重影响。他与我有过那样的关系，怀疑他居心不良，这不仅是可怕的，而且使我自己显得成了什么人？像我这样的处境，只有极不体面、极不慎重地乱表钟情，才能使我遭受——”
　　“那么，”姐姐问道，“你想如何解释他的行为呢？”
　　“我认为——哦！我将十分高兴地认为，他只是变化无常——极其变化无常。”
　　埃丽诺没再多说。她心里在盘算：究竟马上把情况告诉她为好，还是等到她身体更壮实一些。两人默不作声，又慢慢走了几分钟。当我希望他暗暗回想起来不会比我更不愉快时，”玛丽安终于叹息地说，“我的希望并不过分。他回想起来会感到十分痛苦的。”
　　“你是不是拿你的行为与他的行为相比较？”
　　“不。我是拿我的行为与理应如何相比较，与你的行为相比较。”
　　“我们的处境并不相似。”
　　“我们的处境比我们的行为更相似。我亲爱的埃丽诺，你不要让你的好心去为你理智上并不赞成的东西作辩解。我的病促使我思考——它使我得到闲暇，平心静气地认真进行思考。早在我恢复到可以说话之前，我已完全能够思索了。我细想过去，发现自从我们去年秋天与他开始结识以来，我的一系列行动对自己是轻率的，对别人是不厚道的。我发现，我自己的情感造成了我的痛苦，而在痛苦的情况下缺乏坚忍不拔的精神，又差一点使我送了命。我知道，我的病完全是自己造成的，当时我明知不对，但还是不注意自己的身体。假如我真的死了，那是自取灭亡。我不知道自己生命垂危，直到脱离危险以后。但是，由于这些思考给我带来的情感，我不禁对自己的康复感到惊异——真奇怪，我一心渴望能活下来，以便有时机向上帝、向你们大家赎罪，到头来居然没有一命呜呼。姐姐，万一我真的死了，那会给你——我的看护、朋友和姐姐，带来多大的悲痛呀：你在前些日子里对我的烦恼自私看得一清二楚，对我的心思了如指掌！我会给你留下个什么印象啊！还有母亲：你可怎么安慰她呀：我简直说不出多么痛恨自己。每当我回顾过去，总感到自己有点没有尽到自己的责任，或者有点姑息自己的缺点。我似乎伤害了所有的人。詹宁斯太太好心好意，一贯好心好意，我不但不领情，还瞧不起她。对米德尔顿夫妇，帕尔默夫妇，斯蒂尔姐妹，甚至对一般相识的人，我总是傲慢无礼，不讲公道：硬起心肠无视他们的优点，他们越是关心我，我就越是恼火。对约翰、范妮，是的，即使对他们，尽管他们不值得器重，我也没有给予他们以应有的对待。可是你，首先是你，而不是母亲，倒被我冤枉了。我，而且只有我，了解你的心事和悲痛。然而，这对我有什么作用呢？没有引起对你我都有好处的任何同情。你为我树立了榜样，可是有什么用呢？我对你和你的安适更体贴了吗？我有没有效仿你的涵养功夫，设法减少一下你的负担，也来承担一点诸如奉承恭维、感恩戴德之类的事情，而不至于让你在那里独自应酬呢？没有。我无论是认为你称心如意的时候，还是得知你的不幸之后，都没尽到职责和友情。我简直不承认除我之外谁还会有什么悲伤。我只对遗弃、亏待了我的那个人感到懊恼，结果使我自称无比炙档秸饫铮昀霭材翘咸喜痪淖晕以鸨竿*然停止了。埃丽诺虽然是个诚实人，不爱说恭维话，但是她急于要安慰妹妹，当即对她表示了赞扬和鼓励；而玛丽安凭着自己的坦率和悔悟，也完全应该受到赞扬和鼓励。玛丽安紧握着姐姐的手，回答说：
　　“你真好。“你真好。未来一定会给我作证。我已经订好了计划，如果我能坚决执行的话，我就会控制住自己的情感，改变自己的脾气。这就不会再使别人感到烦恼，也不会使我自己感到痛苦。现在，我将只为自家人活着。你、母亲和玛格丽特今后就是我的一切，你们三人将分享我全部的爱。我决不会再产生丝毫杂念，想离开你们，离开我的家。如果我真与外人交往，那只是为了表明：我的态度已经变得谦恭起来，我的心灵已经改过自新，我也可以文质彬彬、宽宏大量地讲讲礼仪答套，履行一下生活中的繁文辱节。至于威洛比，要是说我很快就会忘掉他，或者说迟早总会忘掉他，那是毫无意义的。无论环境和看法如何改变，我是忘不掉他的。不过，这要有个控制，要通过宗教信仰、理智和不停的忙碌，来加以遏制。”
　　玛丽安顿了顿，接着又低声补充了一句：“假如我能了解他的心，那么一切事情都好办了。”埃丽诺听到这话时，已经有好一阵子都在考虑马上把话说出去是否恰当，结果还像起先一样犹豫不决。她发觉，既然左思右想都不解决问题，干脆下个决心不就什么都解决了，于是她立即讲起事实真相。
　　正像她希望的那样，她力求说得策略一些，谨慎小心地使她那位迫不及待的听话人做好思想准备。她简单忠实地叙说了威洛比作为辩解依据的主要论点，如实地传达了他的悔过之意，只是对他现在的爱慕表示说得比较委婉。玛丽安一声不响。她在索索发抖，两眼盯着地上，嘴唇在病后本来就是苍白的，现在变得更加苍白。上千个问题涌上她的心头，但是她一个也不敢提出。她急不可耐地一字不漏地倾听着，一只手不知不觉地紧紧握住了姐姐的手，脸上沾满了泪水。
　　埃丽诺怕她劳累，领着她朝家里走去。虽然玛丽安嘴里没有直说，但是埃丽诺很容易猜到她一定对什么感兴趣。因此，在到达乡舍门口之前，她一直在谈论威洛比以及他们之间的谈话。有关他言谈神态的每一个细节，凡是说出来没有妨碍的，她总要津津乐道地说个仔细。她们一进屋，玛丽安就不胜感激地吻了姐姐—下，并且流着眼泪，清晰可辨地说出了几个字：“告诉妈妈，”随后便离开姐姐，缓步朝楼上走去。她想独自清静一下，这是合情合理的，埃丽诺也就不便打扰。她忧心忡忡地预测这清静的结果，并且决计在妹妹万一不再重提此事的时候帮她重新提起，于是她走进客厅，去完成玛丽安临别时交代的使命。 　
  
回复 引用 新鲜事
顶端
narcis

ZxID：9184039

763474鲜花 75鸡蛋

等级: 派派版主
一二三四五六七~~~
举报 只看该作者 46楼  发表于: 2013-10-30 0
Chapter forty-five

Elinor, for some time after he left her, for some time even after the sound of his carriage had died away, remained too much oppressed by a crowd of ideas, widely differing in themselves, but of which sadness was the general result, to think even of her sister.

Willoughby, he, whom only half an hour ago she had abhorred as the most worthless of men, Willoughby, in spite of all his faults, excited a degree of commiseration for the sufferings produced by them, which made her think of him as now separated for ever from her family, with a tenderness, a regret, rather in proportion, as she soon acknowledged within herself—to his wishes than to his merits. She felt that his influence over her mind was heightened by circumstances which ought not in reason to have weight; by that person of uncommon attraction, that open, affectionate, and lively manner which it was no merit to possess; and by that still ardent love for Marianne, which it was not even innocent to indulge. But she felt that it was so, long, long before she could feel his influence less.

When at last she returned to the unconscious Marianne, she found her just awaking, refreshed by so long and sweet a sleep to the extent of her hopes. Elinor's heart was full. The past, the present, the future, Willoughby's visit, Marianne's safety, and her mother's expected arrival, threw her altogether into an agitation of spirits which kept off every indication of fatigue, and made her only fearful of betraying herself to her sister. Short was the time, however, in which that fear could affect her, for within half an hour after Willoughby's leaving the house, she was again called down stairs by the sound of another carriage.—Eager to save her mother from every unnecessary moment's horrible suspense, she ran immediately into the hall, and reached the outward door just in time to receive and support her as she entered it.

Mrs. Dashwood, whose terror as they drew near the house had produced almost the conviction of Marianne's being no more, had no voice to inquire after her, no voice even for Elinor; but SHE, waiting neither for salutation nor inquiry, instantly gave the joyful relief;—and her mother, catching it with all her usual warmth, was in a moment as much overcome by her happiness, as she had been before by her fears. She was supported into the drawing-room between her daughter and her friend;—and there, shedding tears of joy, though still unable to speak, embraced Elinor again and again, turning from her at intervals to press Colonel Brandon's hand, with a look which spoke at once her gratitude, and her conviction of his sharing with herself in the bliss of the moment. He shared it, however, in a silence even greater than her own.

As soon as Mrs. Dashwood had recovered herself, to see Marianne was her first desire; and in two minutes she was with her beloved child, rendered dearer to her than ever by absence, unhappiness, and danger. Elinor's delight, as she saw what each felt in the meeting, was only checked by an apprehension of its robbing Marianne of farther sleep;—but Mrs. Dashwood could be calm, could be even prudent, when the life of a child was at stake, and Marianne, satisfied in knowing her mother was near her, and conscious of being too weak for conversation, submitted readily to the silence and quiet prescribed by every nurse around her. Mrs. Dashwood would sit up with her all night; and Elinor, in compliance with her mother's entreaty, went to bed. But the rest, which one night entirely sleepless, and many hours of the most wearing anxiety seemed to make requisite, was kept off by irritation of spirits. Willoughby, "poor Willoughby," as she now allowed herself to call him, was constantly in her thoughts; she would not but have heard his vindication for the world, and now blamed, now acquitted herself for having judged him so harshly before. But her promise of relating it to her sister was invariably painful. She dreaded the performance of it, dreaded what its effect on Marianne might be; doubted whether after such an explanation she could ever be happy with another; and for a moment wished Willoughby a widower. Then, remembering Colonel Brandon, reproved herself, felt that to HIS sufferings and his constancy far more than to his rival's, the reward of her sister was due, and wished any thing rather than Mrs. Willoughby's death.

The shock of Colonel Brandon's errand at Barton had been much softened to Mrs. Dashwood by her own previous alarm; for so great was her uneasiness about Marianne, that she had already determined to set out for Cleveland on that very day, without waiting for any further intelligence, and had so far settled her journey before his arrival, that the Careys were then expected every moment to fetch Margaret away, as her mother was unwilling to take her where there might be infection.

Marianne continued to mend every day, and the brilliant cheerfulness of Mrs. Dashwood's looks and spirits proved her to be, as she repeatedly declared herself, one of the happiest women in the world. Elinor could not hear the declaration, nor witness its proofs without sometimes wondering whether her mother ever recollected Edward. But Mrs. Dashwood, trusting to the temperate account of her own disappointment which Elinor had sent her, was led away by the exuberance of her joy to think only of what would increase it. Marianne was restored to her from a danger in which, as she now began to feel, her own mistaken judgment in encouraging the unfortunate attachment to Willoughby, had contributed to place her;—and in her recovery she had yet another source of joy unthought of by Elinor. It was thus imparted to her, as soon as any opportunity of private conference between them occurred.

"At last we are alone. My Elinor, you do not yet know all my happiness. Colonel Brandon loves Marianne. He has told me so himself."

Her daughter, feeling by turns both pleased and pained, surprised and not surprised, was all silent attention.

"You are never like me, dear Elinor, or I should wonder at your composure now. Had I sat down to wish for any possible good to my family, I should have fixed on Colonel Brandon's marrying one of you as the object most desirable. And I believe Marianne will be the most happy with him of the two."

Elinor was half inclined to ask her reason for thinking so, because satisfied that none founded on an impartial consideration of their age, characters, or feelings, could be given;—but her mother must always be carried away by her imagination on any interesting subject, and therefore instead of an inquiry, she passed it off with a smile.

"He opened his whole heart to me yesterday as we travelled. It came out quite unawares, quite undesignedly. I, you may well believe, could talk of nothing but my child;—he could not conceal his distress; I saw that it equalled my own, and he perhaps, thinking that mere friendship, as the world now goes, would not justify so warm a sympathy—or rather, not thinking at all, I suppose—giving way to irresistible feelings, made me acquainted with his earnest, tender, constant, affection for Marianne. He has loved her, my Elinor, ever since the first moment of seeing her."

Here, however, Elinor perceived,—not the language, not the professions of Colonel Brandon, but the natural embellishments of her mother's active fancy, which fashioned every thing delightful to her as it chose.

"His regard for her, infinitely surpassing anything that Willoughby ever felt or feigned, as much more warm, as more sincere or constant—which ever we are to call it—has subsisted through all the knowledge of dear Marianne's unhappy prepossession for that worthless young man!—and without selfishness—without encouraging a hope!—could he have seen her happy with another—Such a noble mind!—such openness, such sincerity!—no one can be deceived in HIM."

"Colonel Brandon's character," said Elinor, "as an excellent man, is well established."

"I know it is"—replied her mother seriously, "or after such a warning, I should be the last to encourage such affection, or even to be pleased by it. But his coming for me as he did, with such active, such ready friendship, is enough to prove him one of the worthiest of men."

"His character, however," answered Elinor, "does not rest on one act of kindness, to which his affection for Marianne, were humanity out of the case, would have prompted him. To Mrs. Jennings, to the Middletons, he has been long and intimately known; they equally love and respect him; and even my own knowledge of him, though lately acquired, is very considerable; and so highly do I value and esteem him, that if Marianne can be happy with him, I shall be as ready as yourself to think our connection the greatest blessing to us in the world. What answer did you give him?—Did you allow him to hope?"

"Oh! my love, I could not then talk of hope to him or to myself. Marianne might at that moment be dying. But he did not ask for hope or encouragement. His was an involuntary confidence, an irrepressible effusion to a soothing friend—not an application to a parent. Yet after a time I did say, for at first I was quite overcome—that if she lived, as I trusted she might, my greatest happiness would lie in promoting their marriage; and since our arrival, since our delightful security, I have repeated it to him more fully, have given him every encouragement in my power. Time, a very little time, I tell him, will do everything;—Marianne's heart is not to be wasted for ever on such a man as Willoughby.— His own merits must soon secure it."

"To judge from the Colonel's spirits, however, you have not yet made him equally sanguine."

"No.—He thinks Marianne's affection too deeply rooted for any change in it under a great length of time, and even supposing her heart again free, is too diffident of himself to believe, that with such a difference of age and disposition he could ever attach her. There, however, he is quite mistaken. His age is only so much beyond hers as to be an advantage, as to make his character and principles fixed;—and his disposition, I am well convinced, is exactly the very one to make your sister happy. And his person, his manners too, are all in his favour. My partiality does not blind me; he certainly is not so handsome as Willoughby—but at the same time, there is something much more pleasing in his countenance.— There was always a something,—if you remember,—in Willoughby's eyes at times, which I did not like."

Elinor could not remember it;—but her mother, without waiting for her assent, continued,

"And his manners, the Colonel's manners are not only more pleasing to me than Willoughby's ever were, but they are of a kind I well know to be more solidly attaching to Marianne. Their gentleness, their genuine attention to other people, and their manly unstudied simplicity is much more accordant with her real disposition, than the liveliness—often artificial, and often ill-timed of the other. I am very sure myself, that had Willoughby turned out as really amiable, as he has proved himself the contrary, Marianne would yet never have been so happy with him, as she will be with Colonel Brandon."

She paused.—Her daughter could not quite agree with her, but her dissent was not heard, and therefore gave no offence.

"At Delaford, she will be within an easy distance of me," added Mrs. Dashwood, "even if I remain at Barton; and in all probability,—for I hear it is a large village,—indeed there certainly must be some small house or cottage close by, that would suit us quite as well as our present situation."

Poor Elinor!—here was a new scheme for getting her to Delaford!—but her spirit was stubborn.

"His fortune too!—for at my time of life you know, everybody cares about that;—and though I neither know nor desire to know, what it really is, I am sure it must be a good one."

Here they were interrupted by the entrance of a third person, and Elinor withdrew to think it all over in private, to wish success to her friend, and yet in wishing it, to feel a pang for Willoughby.



　　威洛比走后好久．甚至他的马车声消失后好久，埃丽诺一直思绪纷乱，各种想法虽然迥然不同，但结果都使她感到异常哀伤，竟连她妹妹都被置之脑后了。
　　威洛比一—就是半小时前还被她深恶痛绝地视为卑鄙小人的那个威洛比，他尽管有千错万错，但是这些过错已经给他造成了百般痛苦，这就多少激起了她的一点侧隐之心。一想到他与她们家现在已经一刀两断，她不由感到一阵惋惜和懊悔。她很快认识到，她的惋惜与懊悔正遂了他的心愿，而与他的德行并不相称。她觉得有些情况按理说是无关紧要的，却进一步左右了她的看法。这其中有他那异常迷人的姿容一—他那坦率，多情、活泼的神态，其实具备这些特点并算不上什么美德．还有他对玛丽安仍然一往情深，其实沉迷于这种深情并不能算是无辜的．但是，远在她感到他的感染力开始削弱之前，她倒觉得情况确是如此。
　　最后，埃丽诺回到睡梦中的玛丽安身边，发现她正在苏醒，甜甜地睡了一大觉之后．精神回复到她所期望的程度。埃丽诺不由得思绪万千。过去，现在，将来一—或威洛比的来访，玛丽安的安康，母亲的即将到达，这一切使她情绪激动，丝毫看不出任何疲劳的迹象。她唯一担心的是不要在妹妹面前不自觉地露了实情。然而，好在担心的时间不长，因为威洛比走后不到半个钟头，她又听见一辆马车的声音，便再次奔下楼去。为了不使母亲多忍受一瞬间的忧虑不安，她立即跑进门厅。别来到外门口，恰好迎上母亲，把她搀了进来。
　　达什伍德太太方才快进屋的时候，提心吊胆地几乎认定玛丽安已经不在人世了。她连话都说不出来了，无法询问玛丽安的情况，甚至也无法问候埃丽诺，但是，埃丽诺既不等母亲询问，也不等她问候，当即报告了令人欣慰的喜讯。母亲听了像往常一样激动不已，刚才还被吓坏了，转眼便欣喜至汲，她由女儿及其朋友搀着，走进客厅。她流着喜悦的泪水，虽然仍旧说不出话来，却一而再再而三地拥抱埃丽诺。同时，不时地转过身来去握布兰登上校的手，那神气好像既表示她的感激之情，又深信他也在分享当时的巨大喜悦。不外上校的确在分享着这番喜悦，只是表现得比她还要缄默。
　　且说达什伍德太太因为早有思想准备，待布兰登上校来巴顿接她时，她并不感到十分震惊。原来，她太为玛丽安感到焦虑不安了，已经决定不再等候消息，当天就启程去克利夫兰。布兰登上校还没到达，她就为上路做好了一切安排。凯里夫妇随时准备将玛格丽特领走，因为母亲不想把她带到那可能染病的地方。
　　玛丽安继续天天好转，达什伍德太太那副欢天喜她的神情，证明她确实像她一再宣称的那样，是世界上最幸福的女人。埃丽诺听见她如此宣称，并且目睹她的种种实际表示，有时不禁在纳闷，母亲是不是还记着爱德华。但是，达什伍德太太对于埃丽诺写给她的关于她自己情场失意的有节制的描述深信不疑，目前又正赶在兴头上，一心只往那些能使她更高兴的事情上想。玛丽安已经从死亡线上回到了她的怀抱，但她开始感到，当初正是自己看错了入，怂恿玛丽安不幸地迷恋着威洛比，结果使她差一点送了命。埃丽诺没有想到，玛丽安的病愈还给母亲带来了另外一种喜悦。她们两人一得到说私房话的机会，母亲便这样向她透露说，
　　“我们终于单独在一起啦。我的埃丽诺，你还不知道我有多高兴，布兰登上校爱上了玛丽安，这是他亲口对我说的。”
　　女儿听了，真是忽而高兴，忽而痛苦，忽而惊奇，忽而平静，她一声不响地专心听着。
　　“你从来不像我，亲爱的埃丽诺，不然我会对你的镇静感到奇怪。假若要我坐下来为我们家里祝福，我会把布兰登上校娶你们两人中的一个定为最理想的目标。我相信，你们两人中，玛丽安嫁给他会更幸福些。”
　　埃丽诺很想问问她凭什么这样认为，即为她确信，只要不存偏心地考虑她俩的年龄、性格和感情，她就拿不出任何理由。但是母亲一想起有趣的事情总是想入非非，忘乎所以，因此她还是不问为好，只是一笑置之。
　　“昨天我们走在路上，他向我倾吐了全部衷情，事情来得非常意外，非常突然。你尽管相信好啦，我开口闭口都离不了我那孩子，上校也掩饰不住自己的悲痛。我发现他和我一样悲痛。他也许认为，按现在的世道来看，纯粹的友谊不允许抱有如此深切的同情．——或者也许他根本没有这么想——他忍不住大动感情，告诉我他对玛丽安抱有真挚、深切和坚贞的爱情。我的埃丽诺，他从第一次看见玛丽安的时候起，就一直爱着她。”
　　不过，埃丽诺在这里觉察得到，问题不在这话怎么说，不在布兰登上校是怎么表白的，问题在于母亲太富于想象力，天生喜欢添枝加叶，因此无论什么事情，她总是怎么中意就怎么说。
　　“上校对玛丽安的爱大大超过了威洛比那些真真假假的感情，比他热烈得多，也更真诚，更专一——你怎么说都可以——他明知亲爱的玛丽安早就不幸地迷上了那个不成器的年轻人，但他还始终爱着她！不夹带任何私心—一不抱有任何希望！说不定他还能看着她与别人幸福地生活在一起呢一—．多么崇高的思想！多么坦率，多么真诚！他不会欺骗任何人的。”
　　“布兰登上校那出色的人品，”埃丽诺说，“真是众所周知啊。”
　　“这我知道，”母亲郑重其事地答道，“要不然，有过这样的前车之鉴，我才不会去鼓励这种爱情呢，甚至也不会为此而感到高兴。上校如此积极主动，如此心甘情愿地来接我，这就足以证明他是个最值得器重的人。”
　　“然而，”埃丽诺答道，“他的人格并非建立在—桩好事上，因为即使这其中不存在什么人道之心，可是出自对玛丽安的钟情，也会促使他这样做的。长期以来，詹宁斯太太、米德尔识夫妇同他一直很亲近，他们都很喜爱他，敬重他。即使我自己，虽说最近才认识他，对他却相当了解，我十分敬重他，钦佩他。如果玛丽安能和他美满结合，我会像你一样十分爽快地认为，这门婚事真是我们家的最大幸事。你是怎么答复他的？你让他存有希望了吧？”
　　“哦！我的宝贝，我当时对他、对我自己还谈不出什么希望不希望的，那当儿，玛丽安说不定快死了。不过，上校没有要求我给他希望或鼓励。他那是对一个知心朋友无意中说说知心话，不想一开口就滔滔不绝地遏制不住了──他并不是在向一个做母亲的求情。起先我实在不知说什么好，但是过了一会，我倒是跟他说了：要是玛丽安还活着（我相信她会活着的），我的最大幸福就是促成他们的婚事。自从我们到达这里，听到玛丽安脱离危险的喜讯以来，我跟他说得更具体了，想方设法地鼓励他。我告诉他：时间，只要一点点时间，就能解决一切问题。玛丽安的心不会永远报废在威洛比这样一个人身上。上校自身的优点一定会很快赢得这颗心。”
　　“不过，从上校的情绪判断，你还没有使他感到同样乐观。”
　　“是的。他认为玛丽安的感情太根深蒂固了，在很长时间里是不会改变的。即使她忘却了旧情，他也不敢轻易相信，他们在年龄和性情上存在那么大的差距，他居然会博得她的喜爱。不过，在这一点上，他完全想错了，他的年龄比玛丽安大，刚好是个有利条件，可以使他的性格、信念固定不变。至于他的性情，我深信恰恰可以使你妹妹感到幸福。他的外貌、风度对他也很有利。我的偏爱并没使我陷入盲目。他当然不及威洛比漂亮，但他的脸上有一股更加讨人喜爱的神情。你若是记得的话，有时威洛比的眼里总有一股我不喜欢的神气。”
　　埃丽诺说什么也记不起来。不过母亲没等她表示同意，便又接下去说：
　　“他的言谈举止，上校的言谈举止，不仅比威洛比的更讨我喜欢，而且我知道也更讨玛丽安喜爱。他举止斯文，真心待人，朴实自然，一派男子汉气概，这同威洛比往往矫揉造作、往往不合时宜的快活性情比较起来，和玛丽安的真实件情更加协调，我敢肯定，即使威洛比证明和实际情况相反，变得非常和蔼可亲，玛丽安嫁给他，决不会像嫁给布兰登上校来得幸福。”
　　她顿住了。女儿不能完全赞同她的意见，但是她没听见女儿的话，因而也没惹她生气。
　　“玛丽安若是嫁到德拉福，和我们来往就方便了，”达什伍德太太接下去说，“即使我还住在巴顿。很可能，—一因为我听说那是个大村子—一实际上，那附近—定有幢小房子，或是幢小乡舍，会像我们现在的住房一样适合我们。”
　　可怜的埃丽诺！这是要把她搞到德拉福的一个新计划：但是，她的意志是坚强的。
　　“还有他的财产：你知道，人到了我这个年纪，谁都要关心这个问题。虽然我不知道、也不想知道他究竟有多少财产，但是数量肯定不少。”
　　说到这里，进来了个第三者，打断了她们的谈话，埃丽诺趁机退了出来，想独自好好考虑考虑。她祝愿她的朋友如愿以偿，然而在祝愿的同时，又为威洛比感到痛心。 　
  
回复 引用 新鲜事
顶端
narcis

ZxID：9184039

763474鲜花 75鸡蛋

等级: 派派版主
一二三四五六七~~~
举报 只看该作者 45楼  发表于: 2013-10-30 0
Chapter forty-four

Elinor, starting back with a look of horror at the sight of him, obeyed the first impulse of her heart in turning instantly to quit the room, and her hand was already on the lock, when its action was suspended by his hastily advancing, and saying, in a voice rather of command than supplication,

"Miss Dashwood, for half an hour—for ten minutes—I entreat you to stay."

"No, sir," she replied with firmness, "I shall not stay. Your business cannot be with me. The servants, I suppose, forgot to tell you that Mr. Palmer was not in the house."

"Had they told me," he cried with vehemence, "that Mr. Palmer and all his relations were at the devil, it would not have turned me from the door. My business is with you, and only you."

"With me!"—in the utmost amazement—"well, sir,—be quick—and if you can—less violent."

"Sit down, and I will be both."

She hesitated; she knew not what to do. The possibility of Colonel Brandon's arriving and finding her there, came across her. But she had promised to hear him, and her curiosity no less than her honor was engaged. After a moment's recollection, therefore, concluding that prudence required dispatch, and that her acquiescence would best promote it, she walked silently towards the table, and sat down. He took the opposite chair, and for half a minute not a word was said by either.

"Pray be quick, sir,"—said Elinor, impatiently;—"I have no time to spare."

He was sitting in an attitude of deep meditation, and seemed not to hear her.

"Your sister," said he, with abruptness, a moment afterwards—"is out of danger. I heard it from the servant. God be praised!—But is it true? is it really true?"

Elinor would not speak. He repeated the inquiry with yet greater eagerness.

"For God's sake tell me, is she out of danger, or is she not?"

"We hope she is."

He rose up, and walked across the room.

"Had I known as much half an hour ago—But since I am here,"—speaking with a forced vivacity as he returned to his seat—"what does it signify?—For once, Miss Dashwood—it will be the last time, perhaps—let us be cheerful together.—I am in a fine mood for gaiety.— Tell me honestly"—a deeper glow overspreading his cheeks—"do you think me most a knave or a fool?"

Elinor looked at him with greater astonishment than ever. She began to think that he must be in liquor;—the strangeness of such a visit, and of such manners, seemed no otherwise intelligible; and with this impression she immediately rose, saying,

"Mr. Willoughby, I advise you at present to return to Combe—I am not at leisure to remain with you longer.— Whatever your business may be with me, will it be better recollected and explained to-morrow."

"I understand you," he replied, with an expressive smile, and a voice perfectly calm; "yes, I am very drunk.— A pint of porter with my cold beef at Marlborough was enough to over-set me."

"At Marlborough!"—cried Elinor, more and more at a loss to understand what he would be at.

"Yes,—I left London this morning at eight o'clock, and the only ten minutes I have spent out of my chaise since that time procured me a nuncheon at Marlborough."

The steadiness of his manner, and the intelligence of his eye as he spoke, convincing Elinor, that whatever other unpardonable folly might bring him to Cleveland, he was not brought there by intoxication, she said, after a moment's recollection,

"Mr. Willoughby, you ought to feel, and I certainly do—that after what has passed—your coming here in this manner, and forcing yourself upon my notice, requires a very particular excuse.—What is it, that you mean by it?"—

"I mean,"—said he, with serious energy—"if I can, to make you hate me one degree less than you do now. I mean to offer some kind of explanation, some kind of apology, for the past; to open my whole heart to you, and by convincing you, that though I have been always a blockhead, I have not been always a rascal, to obtain something like forgiveness from Ma—from your sister."

"Is this the real reason of your coming?"

"Upon my soul it is,"—was his answer, with a warmth which brought all the former Willoughby to her remembrance, and in spite of herself made her think him sincere.

"If that is all, you may be satisfied already,— for Marianne does—she has long forgiven you."

"Has she?"—he cried, in the same eager tone.— "Then she has forgiven me before she ought to have done it. But she shall forgive me again, and on more reasonable grounds.—Now will you listen to me?"

Elinor bowed her assent.

"I do not know," said he, after a pause of expectation on her side, and thoughtfulness on his own,—"how you may have accounted for my behaviour to your sister, or what diabolical motive you may have imputed to me.— Perhaps you will hardly think the better of me,—it is worth the trial however, and you shall hear every thing. When I first became intimate in your family, I had no other intention, no other view in the acquaintance than to pass my time pleasantly while I was obliged to remain in Devonshire, more pleasantly than I had ever done before. Your sister's lovely person and interesting manners could not but please me; and her behaviour to me almost from the first, was of a kind—It is astonishing, when I reflect on what it was, and what SHE was, that my heart should have been so insensible! But at first I must confess, my vanity only was elevated by it. Careless of her happiness, thinking only of my own amusement, giving way to feelings which I had always been too much in the habit of indulging, I endeavoured, by every means in my power, to make myself pleasing to her, without any design of returning her affection."

Miss Dashwood, at this point, turning her eyes on him with the most angry contempt, stopped him, by saying,

"It is hardly worth while, Mr. Willoughby, for you to relate, or for me to listen any longer. Such a beginning as this cannot be followed by any thing.— Do not let me be pained by hearing any thing more on the subject."

"I insist on you hearing the whole of it," he replied, "My fortune was never large, and I had always been expensive, always in the habit of associating with people of better income than myself. Every year since my coming of age, or even before, I believe, had added to my debts; and though the death of my old cousin, Mrs. Smith, was to set me free; yet that event being uncertain, and possibly far distant, it had been for some time my intention to re-establish my circumstances by marrying a woman of fortune. To attach myself to your sister, therefore, was not a thing to be thought of;—and with a meanness, selfishness, cruelty—which no indignant, no contemptuous look, even of yours, Miss Dashwood, can ever reprobate too much—I was acting in this manner, trying to engage her regard, without a thought of returning it.—But one thing may be said for me: even in that horrid state of selfish vanity, I did not know the extent of the injury I meditated, because I did not THEN know what it was to love. But have I ever known it?—Well may it be doubted; for, had I really loved, could I have sacrificed my feelings to vanity, to avarice?—or, what is more, could I have sacrificed hers?— But I have done it. To avoid a comparative poverty, which her affection and her society would have deprived of all its horrors, I have, by raising myself to affluence, lost every thing that could make it a blessing."

"You did then," said Elinor, a little softened, "believe yourself at one time attached to her?"

"To have resisted such attractions, to have withstood such tenderness!—Is there a man on earth who could have done it?—Yes, I found myself, by insensible degrees, sincerely fond of her; and the happiest hours of my life were what I spent with her when I felt my intentions were strictly honourable, and my feelings blameless. Even THEN, however, when fully determined on paying my addresses to her, I allowed myself most improperly to put off, from day to day, the moment of doing it, from an unwillingness to enter into an engagement while my circumstances were so greatly embarrassed. I will not reason here—nor will I stop for you to expatiate on the absurdity, and the worse than absurdity, of scrupling to engage my faith where my honour was already bound. The event has proved, that I was a cunning fool, providing with great circumspection for a possible opportunity of making myself contemptible and wretched for ever. At last, however, my resolution was taken, and I had determined, as soon as I could engage her alone, to justify the attentions I had so invariably paid her, and openly assure her of an affection which I had already taken such pains to display. But in the interim—in the interim of the very few hours that were to pass, before I could have an opportunity of speaking with her in private—a circumstance occurred—an unlucky circumstance, to ruin all my resolution, and with it all my comfort. A discovery took place,"—here he hesitated and looked down.—"Mrs. Smith had somehow or other been informed, I imagine by some distant relation, whose interest it was to deprive me of her favour, of an affair, a connection—but I need not explain myself farther," he added, looking at her with an heightened colour and an enquiring eye—"your particular intimacy—you have probably heard the whole story long ago."

"I have," returned Elinor, colouring likewise, and hardening her heart anew against any compassion for him, "I have heard it all. And how you will explain away any part of your guilt in that dreadful business, I confess is beyond my comprehension."

"Remember," cried Willoughby, "from whom you received the account. Could it be an impartial one? I acknowledge that her situation and her character ought to have been respected by me. I do not mean to justify myself, but at the same time cannot leave you to suppose that I have nothing to urge—that because she was injured she was irreproachable, and because I was a libertine, SHE must be a saint. If the violence of her passions, the weakness of her understanding—I do not mean, however, to defend myself. Her affection for me deserved better treatment, and I often, with great self-reproach, recall the tenderness which, for a very short time, had the power of creating any return. I wish—I heartily wish it had never been. But I have injured more than herself; and I have injured one, whose affection for me—(may I say it?) was scarcely less warm than hers; and whose mind—Oh! how infinitely superior!"—

"Your indifference, however, towards that unfortunate girl—I must say it, unpleasant to me as the discussion of such a subject may well be—your indifference is no apology for your cruel neglect of her. Do not think yourself excused by any weakness, any natural defect of understanding on her side, in the wanton cruelty so evident on yours. You must have known, that while you were enjoying yourself in Devonshire pursuing fresh schemes, always gay, always happy, she was reduced to the extremest indigence."

"But, upon my soul, I did not know it," he warmly replied; "I did not recollect that I had omitted to give her my direction; and common sense might have told her how to find it out."

"Well, sir, and what said Mrs. Smith?"

"She taxed me with the offence at once, and my confusion may be guessed. The purity of her life, the formality of her notions, her ignorance of the world—every thing was against me. The matter itself I could not deny, and vain was every endeavour to soften it. She was previously disposed, I believe, to doubt the morality of my conduct in general, and was moreover discontented with the very little attention, the very little portion of my time that I had bestowed on her, in my present visit. In short, it ended in a total breach. By one measure I might have saved myself. In the height of her morality, good woman! she offered to forgive the past, if I would marry Eliza. That could not be—and I was formally dismissed from her favour and her house. The night following this affair—I was to go the next morning—was spent by me in deliberating on what my future conduct should be. The struggle was great—but it ended too soon. My affection for Marianne, my thorough conviction of her attachment to me—it was all insufficient to outweigh that dread of poverty, or get the better of those false ideas of the necessity of riches, which I was naturally inclined to feel, and expensive society had increased. I had reason to believe myself secure of my present wife, if I chose to address her, and I persuaded myself to think that nothing else in common prudence remained for me to do. A heavy scene however awaited me, before I could leave Devonshire;—I was engaged to dine with you on that very day; some apology was therefore necessary for my breaking this engagement. But whether I should write this apology, or deliver it in person, was a point of long debate. To see Marianne, I felt, would be dreadful, and I even doubted whether I could see her again, and keep to my resolution. In that point, however, I undervalued my own magnanimity, as the event declared; for I went, I saw her, and saw her miserable, and left her miserable—and left her hoping never to see her again."

"Why did you call, Mr. Willoughby?" said Elinor, reproachfully; "a note would have answered every purpose.— Why was it necessary to call?"

"It was necessary to my own pride. I could not bear to leave the country in a manner that might lead you, or the rest of the neighbourhood, to suspect any part of what had really passed between Mrs. Smith and myself—and I resolved therefore on calling at the cottage, in my way to Honiton. The sight of your dear sister, however, was really dreadful; and, to heighten the matter, I found her alone. You were all gone I do not know where. I had left her only the evening before, so fully, so firmly resolved within my self on doing right! A few hours were to have engaged her to me for ever; and I remember how happy, how gay were my spirits, as I walked from the cottage to Allenham, satisfied with myself, delighted with every body! But in this, our last interview of friendship, I approached her with a sense of guilt that almost took from me the power of dissembling. Her sorrow, her disappointment, her deep regret, when I told her that I was obliged to leave Devonshire so immediately—I never shall forget it—united too with such reliance, such confidence in me!—Oh, God!—what a hard-hearted rascal I was!"

They were both silent for a few moments. Elinor first spoke.

"Did you tell her that you should soon return?"

"I do not know what I told her," he replied, impatiently; "less than was due to the past, beyond a doubt, and in all likelihood much more than was justified by the future. I cannot think of it.—It won't do.—Then came your dear mother to torture me farther, with all her kindness and confidence. Thank Heaven! it did torture me. I was miserable. Miss Dashwood, you cannot have an idea of the comfort it gives me to look back on my own misery. I owe such a grudge to myself for the stupid, rascally folly of my own heart, that all my past sufferings under it are only triumph and exultation to me now. Well, I went, left all that I loved, and went to those to whom, at best, I was only indifferent. My journey to town—travelling with my own horses, and therefore so tediously—no creature to speak to—my own reflections so cheerful—when I looked forward every thing so inviting!—when I looked back at Barton, the picture so soothing!—oh, it was a blessed journey!"

He stopped.

"Well, sir," said Elinor, who, though pitying him, grew impatient for his departure, "and this is all?"

"Ah!—no,—have you forgot what passed in town?— That infamous letter—Did she shew it you?"

"Yes, I saw every note that passed."

"When the first of hers reached me (as it immediately did, for I was in town the whole time,) what I felt is—in the common phrase, not to be expressed; in a more simple one—perhaps too simple to raise any emotion—my feelings were very, very painful.—Every line, every word was—in the hackneyed metaphor which their dear writer, were she here, would forbid—a dagger to my heart. To know that Marianne was in town was—in the same language—a thunderbolt.—Thunderbolts and daggers!—what a reproof would she have given me!—her taste, her opinions—I believe they are better known to me than my own,—and I am sure they are dearer."

Elinor's heart, which had undergone many changes in the course of this extraordinary conversation, was now softened again;—yet she felt it her duty to check such ideas in her companion as the last.

"This is not right, Mr. Willoughby.—Remember that you are married. Relate only what in your conscience you think necessary for me to hear."

"Marianne's note, by assuring me that I was still as dear to her as in former days, that in spite of the many, many weeks we had been separated, she was as constant in her own feelings, and as full of faith in the constancy of mine as ever, awakened all my remorse. I say awakened, because time and London, business and dissipation, had in some measure quieted it, and I had been growing a fine hardened villain, fancying myself indifferent to her, and chusing to fancy that she too must have become indifferent to me; talking to myself of our past attachment as a mere idle, trifling business, shrugging up my shoulders in proof of its being so, and silencing every reproach, overcoming every scruple, by secretly saying now and then, 'I shall be heartily glad to hear she is well married.'— But this note made me know myself better. I felt that she was infinitely dearer to me than any other woman in the world, and that I was using her infamously. But every thing was then just settled between Miss Grey and me. To retreat was impossible. All that I had to do, was to avoid you both. I sent no answer to Marianne, intending by that to preserve myself from her farther notice; and for some time I was even determined not to call in Berkeley Street;—but at last, judging it wiser to affect the air of a cool, common acquaintance than anything else, I watched you all safely out of the house one morning, and left my name."

"Watched us out of the house!"

"Even so. You would be surprised to hear how often I watched you, how often I was on the point of falling in with you. I have entered many a shop to avoid your sight, as the carriage drove by. Lodging as I did in Bond Street, there was hardly a day in which I did not catch a glimpse of one or other of you; and nothing but the most constant watchfulness on my side, a most invariably prevailing desire to keep out of your sight, could have separated us so long. I avoided the Middletons as much as possible, as well as everybody else who was likely to prove an acquaintance in common. Not aware of their being in town, however, I blundered on Sir John, I believe, the first day of his coming, and the day after I had called at Mrs. Jennings's. He asked me to a party, a dance at his house in the evening.—Had he NOT told me as an inducement that you and your sister were to be there, I should have felt it too certain a thing, to trust myself near him. The next morning brought another short note from Marianne—still affectionate, open, artless, confiding—everything that could make MY conduct most hateful. I could not answer it. I tried—but could not frame a sentence. But I thought of her, I believe, every moment of the day. If you CAN pity me, Miss Dashwood, pity my situation as it was THEN. With my head and heart full of your sister, I was forced to play the happy lover to another woman!—Those three or four weeks were worse than all. Well, at last, as I need not tell you, you were forced on me; and what a sweet figure I cut!—what an evening of agony it was!— Marianne, beautiful as an angel on one side, calling me Willoughby in such a tone!—Oh, God!—holding out her hand to me, asking me for an explanation, with those bewitching eyes fixed in such speaking solicitude on my face!—and Sophia, jealous as the devil on the other hand, looking all that was—Well, it does not signify; it is over now.— Such an evening!—I ran away from you all as soon as I could; but not before I had seen Marianne's sweet face as white as death.—THAT was the last, last look I ever had of her;—the last manner in which she appeared to me. It was a horrid sight!—yet when I thought of her to-day as really dying, it was a kind of comfort to me to imagine that I knew exactly how she would appear to those, who saw her last in this world. She was before me, constantly before me, as I travelled, in the same look and hue."

A short pause of mutual thoughtfulness succeeded. Willoughby first rousing himself, broke it thus:

"Well, let me make haste and be gone. Your sister is certainly better, certainly out of danger?"

"We are assured of it."

"Your poor mother, too!—doting on Marianne."

"But the letter, Mr. Willoughby, your own letter; have you any thing to say about that?"

"Yes, yes, THAT in particular. Your sister wrote to me again, you know, the very next morning. You saw what she said. I was breakfasting at the Ellisons,—and her letter, with some others, was brought to me there from my lodgings. It happened to catch Sophia's eye before it caught mine—and its size, the elegance of the paper, the hand-writing altogether, immediately gave her a suspicion. Some vague report had reached her before of my attachment to some young lady in Devonshire, and what had passed within her observation the preceding evening had marked who the young lady was, and made her more jealous than ever. Affecting that air of playfulness, therefore, which is delightful in a woman one loves, she opened the letter directly, and read its contents. She was well paid for her impudence. She read what made her wretched. Her wretchedness I could have borne, but her passion—her malice—At all events it must be appeased. And, in short—what do you think of my wife's style of letter-writing?—delicate—tender—truly feminine—was it not?"

"Your wife!—The letter was in your own hand-writing."

"Yes, but I had only the credit of servilely copying such sentences as I was ashamed to put my name to. The original was all her own—her own happy thoughts and gentle diction. But what could I do!—we were engaged, every thing in preparation, the day almost fixed—But I am talking like a fool. Preparation!—day!—In honest words, her money was necessary to me, and in a situation like mine, any thing was to be done to prevent a rupture. And after all, what did it signify to my character in the opinion of Marianne and her friends, in what language my answer was couched?—It must have been only to one end. My business was to declare myself a scoundrel, and whether I did it with a bow or a bluster was of little importance.— 'I am ruined for ever in their opinion—' said I to myself—'I am shut out for ever from their society, they already think me an unprincipled fellow, this letter will only make them think me a blackguard one.' Such were my reasonings, as, in a sort of desperate carelessness, I copied my wife's words, and parted with the last relics of Marianne. Her three notes—unluckily they were all in my pocketbook, or I should have denied their existence, and hoarded them for ever—I was forced to put them up, and could not even kiss them. And the lock of hair—that too I had always carried about me in the same pocket-book, which was now searched by Madam with the most ingratiating virulence,—the dear lock—all, every memento was torn from me."

"You are very wrong, Mr. Willoughby, very blamable," said Elinor, while her voice, in spite of herself, betrayed her compassionate emotion; "you ought not to speak in this way, either of Mrs. Willoughby or my sister. You had made your own choice. It was not forced on you. Your wife has a claim to your politeness, to your respect, at least. She must be attached to you, or she would not have married you. To treat her with unkindness, to speak of her slightingly is no atonement to Marianne—nor can I suppose it a relief to your own conscience."

"Do not talk to me of my wife," said he with a heavy sigh.— "She does not deserve your compassion.—She knew I had no regard for her when we married.—Well, married we were, and came down to Combe Magna to be happy, and afterwards returned to town to be gay.—And now do you pity me, Miss Dashwood?—or have I said all this to no purpose?— Am I—be it only one degree—am I less guilty in your opinion than I was before?—My intentions were not always wrong. Have I explained away any part of my guilt?"

"Yes, you have certainly removed something—a little.— You have proved yourself, on the whole, less faulty than I had believed you. You have proved your heart less wicked, much less wicked. But I hardly know—the misery that you have inflicted—I hardly know what could have made it worse."

"Will you repeat to your sister when she is recovered, what I have been telling you?—Let me be a little lightened too in her opinion as well as in yours. You tell me that she has forgiven me already. Let me be able to fancy that a better knowledge of my heart, and of my present feelings, will draw from her a more spontaneous, more natural, more gentle, less dignified, forgiveness. Tell her of my misery and my penitence—tell her that my heart was never inconstant to her, and if you will, that at this moment she is dearer to me than ever."

"I will tell her all that is necessary to what may comparatively be called, your justification. But you have not explained to me the particular reason of your coming now, nor how you heard of her illness."

"Last night, in Drury Lane lobby, I ran against Sir John Middleton, and when he saw who I was—for the first time these two months—he spoke to me.—That he had cut me ever since my marriage, I had seen without surprise or resentment. Now, however, his good-natured, honest, stupid soul, full of indignation against me, and concern for your sister, could not resist the temptation of telling me what he knew ought to—though probably he did not think it would—vex me horridly. As bluntly as he could speak it, therefore, he told me that Marianne Dashwood was dying of a putrid fever at Cleveland—a letter that morning received from Mrs. Jennings declared her danger most imminent—the Palmers are all gone off in a fright, &c.—I was too much shocked to be able to pass myself off as insensible even to the undiscerning Sir John. His heart was softened in seeing mine suffer; and so much of his ill-will was done away, that when we parted, he almost shook me by the hand while he reminded me of an old promise about a pointer puppy. What I felt on hearing that your sister was dying—and dying too, believing me the greatest villain upon earth, scorning, hating me in her latest moments—for how could I tell what horrid projects might not have been imputed? One person I was sure would represent me as capable of any thing— What I felt was dreadful!—My resolution was soon made, and at eight o'clock this morning I was in my carriage. Now you know all."

Elinor made no answer. Her thoughts were silently fixed on the irreparable injury which too early an independence and its consequent habits of idleness, dissipation, and luxury, had made in the mind, the character, the happiness, of a man who, to every advantage of person and talents, united a disposition naturally open and honest, and a feeling, affectionate temper. The world had made him extravagant and vain—Extravagance and vanity had made him cold-hearted and selfish. Vanity, while seeking its own guilty triumph at the expense of another, had involved him in a real attachment, which extravagance, or at least its offspring, necessity, had required to be sacrificed. Each faulty propensity in leading him to evil, had led him likewise to punishment. The attachment, from which against honour, against feeling, against every better interest he had outwardly torn himself, now, when no longer allowable, governed every thought; and the connection, for the sake of which he had, with little scruple, left her sister to misery, was likely to prove a source of unhappiness to himself of a far more incurable nature. From a reverie of this kind she was recalled at the end of some minutes by Willoughby, who, rousing himself from a reverie at least equally painful, started up in preparation for going, and said—

"There is no use in staying here; I must be off."

"Are you going back to town?"

"No—to Combe Magna. I have business there; from thence to town in a day or two. Good bye."

He held out his hand. She could not refuse to give him hers's;—he pressed it with affection.

"And you do think something better of me than you did?"—said he, letting it fall, and leaning against the mantel-piece as if forgetting he was to go.

Elinor assured him that she did;—that she forgave, pitied, wished him well—was even interested in his happiness—and added some gentle counsel as to the behaviour most likely to promote it. His answer was not very encouraging.

"As to that," said he, "I must rub through the world as well as I can. Domestic happiness is out of the question. If, however, I am allowed to think that you and yours feel an interest in my fate and actions, it may be the means—it may put me on my guard—at least, it may be something to live for. Marianne to be sure is lost to me for ever. Were I even by any blessed chance at liberty again—"

Elinor stopped him with a reproof.

"Well,"—he replied—"once more good bye. I shall now go away and live in dread of one event."

"What do you mean?"

"Your sister's marriage."

"You are very wrong. She can never be more lost to you than she is now."

"But she will be gained by some one else. And if that some one should be the very he whom, of all others, I could least bear—but I will not stay to rob myself of all your compassionate goodwill, by shewing that where I have most injured I can least forgive. Good bye,—God bless you!"

And with these words, he almost ran out of the room.



　　埃丽诺一见到他顿时惊慌失色，情不自禁地扭身往外就走。她手抓住锁柄刚想开门，不想被威洛比抢上前一把拦住，只听他带着命令而不是恳求的口气说道：
　　“达什伍德小姐，请你留一下——半个小时一—十分钟，”
　　“不，先生，”埃丽诺毅然答道，“我不想留下。你不会有事找我的。我想仆人忘了告诉你，帕尔默先生不在家。”
　　“即使他们告诉我，”威洛比激动地暖道，“帕尔默先生及其亲属都见阎王去了，也休想把我赶出门。我是来找你的，只找你一个人。”
　　“找我！”埃丽诺极其惊愕地说——“好吧，先生—一快说吧——如果可以的话，不要那么激动。”
　　“请你坐下，这两点我都能做到。”
　　埃丽诺踌躇了一下，有些茫然不知所措。她忽然想到，说不定布兰登上校会来这里撞见他。不过，她答应听他说下去，她不仅要讲信用，而且她的好奇心也给勾起来了。她思讨了片刻，觉得为了谨慎起见，还是让他快说快完，而要快说快完，她最好顺从他的意思，于是她悄悄走到桌边，坐下。威洛比坐到对面的椅子上，足足有半分钟工夫，两人没有说话。
　　“请快说吧，先生，”埃丽诺不附烦地说。“我没有闲工夫。”
　　威洛比坐在那儿像是在沉思，似乎没有听见她的话。
　　停了一刻，他突然说道：“你妹妹已经脱离危险。我是从仆人那里听说的。感谢上帝！可这是真的吗？的确是真的吗？”
　　埃丽诺不肯吱声。威洛比更加急切地又问了一次：
　　“看在上帝的份上，告诉我她脱离危险了没有？”
　　“我们希望她脱离危险了。”
　　威洛比立起身，走到房间对面。
　　“我若是半个小时以前得知这些情况—一可是既然我已经来了”—一他又回到座位上，装作快活的样子说道—一“这又有什么关系呢？达什伍德小姐—一也许这是我们最后一次一一就让我们快快乐乐地相见这么一次吧。我现在倒很有兴致。老实告诉我”——他两颊唰地变得通红——“你认为我是个坏人，还是个蠢人？”
　　埃丽诺更加惊讶地看着他。她在想，他一定喝醉了。不然，就很难解释他这奇怪的来访、奇怪的举止。因为有这样的印象，她立即站起身，说道：
　　“威洛比先生，我劝你现在还是回到库姆。我没有闲工夫和你呆在一起。不管你找我有什么事，最好还是等到明天，可以想得更周到，解释得更清楚。”
　　“我明白你的意思，”威洛比意味深长地微微一笑，带着极其镇定的语气说道。“是的，我喝得醉醺醺的。我在马尔博罗吃了点冷牛肉，喝上一品脱黑啤酒，就醉倒了。”
　　“在马尔博罗！”埃丽诺嚷道，越来越不明白他要干什么。
　　“是的——我今天早晨八点离开伦敦，从那之后，我只走出马车十分钟，在马尔博罗吃了点饭。”
　　威洛比说话的时候，态度稳重，两眼炯炯有神，这就使埃丽诺认识到，不管他会抱有什么不可宽恕的愚蠢动机，但他不是由于喝醉酒才来到克利夫兰。埃丽诺考虑了片刻，然后说道：
　　“威洛比先生，你应该明白，而我当然是明白的——出了这些事情之后，你再如此这般地来到这里，硬要找我谈话，那你一定有什么特殊理由啦。你来这里究竟是什么意思？”
　　“我的意思是，”威洛比郑重有力地说道，“如果可能的话，使你比现在少恨我一点。我想为过去作点解释，表示点歉意——把全部的心里话说给你听听，让你相信：我虽说一直是个傻瓜蛋，但并非一直都是个坏蛋——以此能取得玛一—你妹妹的某种谅解。”
　　“这是你来这里的真实原因？”
　　“的的确确是这样，”威洛比答道，语气非常热切，使埃丽诺顿时想起了过去的威洛比。她情不自禁地觉得他是诚恳的。
　　“如果就为这个，那你早就可以满意了，因为玛丽安已经宽恕了你——她早就宽恕了你。”
　　“真的：”威洛比带着同样急切的语气嚷道。“那么她是没到时候就宽恕了我。不过她会再次宽恕我的，而且理由更加充分。好啦，现在可以听我说了吧？”
　　埃丽诺点点头表示同意。
　　她期待着，只见威洛比略思片刻，然后说道：“我不知道你是如何解释我对你妹妹的行为的，把什么邪恶的动机归罪到我身上。也许你不大会瞧得起我了，不过还是值得听我说说，我要源源本本地说给你听听。我最初与你一家人结识的时候，并没有别的用心、别的意图，只想使我在德文郡的日子过得愉快些，实际上是比以往过得更愉快。你妹妹那可爱的姿容和有趣的举止不可能不引起我的喜爱。而她对我，几乎从一开始就有点——仔细想想她当时的情况，想想她那副样子，简直令人吃惊，我的心竟然那么麻木不仁！不过应该承认，我起先只是被激起了虚荣心。我不顾她的幸福，只想到自己的快活，任凭我过去一贯沉溺其中的那种感情在心里兴风作浪，于是便干方百计地去讨好她，而并不想报答她的钟情。”
　　听到这里，达什伍德小姐向他投去极其愤怒、极其鄙夷的目光，打断了他的话头，对他说：
　　“威洛比先生，你没有必要再说下去，我也没有必要再听下去。像这样的话头不会导致任何结果，不要让我痛苦地听你说下去。”
　　“我一定要你听完，”威洛比答道。“我的财产历来不多，可我一贯大手大脚，一贯爱同比自己收入多的人交往。我成年以后，甚至我想是在成年以前，欠债逐年增多。虽然我的表姑史密斯太太一去世我就会获救，但那靠不住，很可能遥遥无期，于是我一直想娶个有钱的女人，以便重振家业。因此，让我去爱你妹妹，那是不可思议的。我是这样的卑鄙、自私、残忍——对此，达什伍德小姐，即便是你，不管用多么愤慨、多么鄙夷的目光加以谴责，都不会过分——我就是采取这样的行为，一方面想赢得她的喜爱，另一方面又不想去爱她。不过，有一点可以说明一下，即使在充满自私和虚荣的可怕情况下，我也不知道我造成了多大的危害，因为我当时还不懂得什么是爱情。但是我后来懂得了吗？这很值得怀疑，因为假若我真的爱她，我会牺牲感情而去追求虚荣和贪婪吗？再说，我会牺牲她的感情吗？可是我偏偏这样做了。我一心想避免陷入相对的贫穷，其实，有了她的恩爱和友谊，贫穷一点也不可怕。如今我虽然发了财，但是我失去了可以给我带来幸福的一切东西。”
　　“这么说来，”埃丽诺有点心软地说道，“你确实认为你一度爱过她啦。”，
　　“见到这样的丰姿美貌，这样的柔情蜜意而不动心！天下有哪个男人做得到呢！是的，我不知不觉地渐渐发现我从心里喜欢她。我生平最幸福的时刻，就是同她在一起度过的。那时，我觉得自己的用心正大光明，感情无可指责。不过，即便在当时，虽说我下定决心向她求爱，但是由于我不愿意在极其窘迫的境况下与她订婚，因此便极不恰当地一天天拖延下去。在这里，我不想进行争辩——也不想停下来让你数落我多么荒唐。本来是义不容辞的事情，我却迟迟疑疑地不讲情义，真比荒唐还糟糕。事实证明，我是个狡猾的傻瓜，谨小慎微地制造机会，使自己永远成为一个不齿于人类的可怜虫。不过，我最后终于拿定主意，一有机会与她单独相会，就向她表明我一直在追求她，公开对她说我爱她。事实上，我早已在尽力设法表露这种爱。但是，在这当口——就在随后的儿个钟头里，我还没能找到机会私下同她交谈，却出现了一个情况．—一一个不幸的情况，使得我的决心、我的幸福毁于一旦。我的事情败露了，”一说到这里，他有些犹豫，不禁垂下了头。“史密斯太太不知道怎么听说了，我想是哪个远房亲戚告密的，这个亲戚一心想使我失宠于史密斯太太，便告发了我的私情，我与别人的瓜葛——但是我不需要亲自再作解释，”他补充说，面孔涨得通红，直拿探询的目光望着埃丽诺。“你和布兰登上校的关系特别亲密——你大概早就“是的，”埃丽诺答道，脸色同样变得通红，但她重新狠了狠心，决定不再怜悯他。“我全都听说了。坦白地说，我无法理解，在这起可怕的事件中，你有哪一点能给自己开脱罪责。”
　　“请你不要忘记，”威洛比嚷道，“你是听谁说的。那会公平无私吗？我承认，伊丽莎的身份和人格应该受到我的尊重。我并不想替自己辩解，但是也不能让你认为：我就无可辩解了，而她因为受了损害就无可指责了，好像因为我是个浪荡子，她就一定是个圣人。如果她那强烈的感情和贫乏的理智——然而，我并非有意为自己辩护。她对我的一片深情，应该受到更好的对待，我经常怀着自咎的心情，缅怀她的柔情蜜意，而这股柔情蜜意在一个短时期里不能不引起我的反响，我但愿——我由衷地但愿，要是没有这码事就好了。我不仅伤害了我自己，而且还伤害了另一个人，此人对我的一片深情（我可以这样说吗？）简直不亚于那个姑娘的，此人的心地—一哦！真是高尚无比！”
　　“然而，你对那个不幸姑娘的冷漠无情——尽管我很不愿意谈论这件事，但我还是一定要说——你的冷漠无情并不能为你对她残酷的弃置不顾作辩解。你不要以为借口她脆弱，天生缺乏理智，就可以为你自己的蛮横残忍作辩解。你应该知道，当你在德文郡尽情享乐，欢天喜地地追求新欢的时候，她却陷入了穷困潦倒的深渊。”
　　“我以名誉担保，我并不知道这个情况，”威洛比急切地答道。“我不记得忘了告诉她我的地址。况且，普通常识就能告诉她如何查到。”
　　“好啦，先生，史密斯太太说了些什么？”
　　“她一见到我就立即责备我的过失，我的窘态可想而知。她这个人一向洁身自好、思想正统、不晓世故一—这一切都对我不利。事情本身我无法否认，企图大事化小也是徒劳无益的。我相信，她事前就大体上对我的行为准则发生了怀疑，而且对我这次来访期间对她不够关心、很少把时间花在她身上，感到不满。总之一句话，最后导致了总决裂。也许，我有一个办法可以挽救自己。在她最崇尚道德的时候（慈善的女人！），她表示如果我愿意娶伊丽莎，她就原谅我的过去。这是不可能的一—于是她正式宣布不再喜爱我，把我赶出了家门。就在事情发生之后的那天夜里——我第二天早晨就得离开——我一直在反复考虑将来怎么办。思想斗争是激烈的——但结束得太突兀。我爱玛丽安，而且我深信她也爱我——可是这都不足以克服我对贫穷的恐惧心理，不足以克服我贪财爱富的错误思想。我本来就有这种自然倾向，再加上尽跟些大手大脚的人混在—起，进一步助长了这些错误思想。我当时有理由认为，我目前的妻子是靠得住的，只要我愿意向她求婚就行，我自以为谨慎考虑—下也没有别的出路。可是我还没来得及离开德文郡，便遇到一个令人苦恼的场面。就在那天，我约定同你们一道吃饭，因而必须对我不能践约表示道歉。但是，究竟是写信，还是当面陈说，我一直举棋不定。去见玛丽安吧，我感到这很可怕。我甚至怀疑我再见到她能否不动摇自己的决心。可是事实证明，我在这点上低估了自己的气量；因为我去了，见到了她，发现她很痛苦，我离开她时她仍然很痛苦——我离开了她，希望永远别再见到她。”
　　“威洛比先生，你为什么要去呢？”埃丽诺用责备的口吻说道。“写一封信就足够了，为什么一定要去呢？”
　　“这对我的自尊心是必要的，我不忍心就这样离开乡下，让你们和左邻右舍怀疑我与史密斯太太之间真的出了什么事，因此，我决定在去霍尼顿的途中，顺便到乡舍看看。见到你妹妹确实很可怕。而且更糟糕的是，我只见到她一个人。你们都不在，不晓得到哪儿去了。我头天夜里才离开她，当时我心里暗暗下定决心，一定要对得起她：只要再多几个小时，她就永远属于我的了。我记得，我从乡舍往艾伦汉走去时，不知有多高兴，多快活，自鸣得意的，逢人便乐：但是，在我们友好相处的这最后一次会见中，我怀着一种内疚的感觉来到她的跟前，简直连掩饰感情的能力都没有了。当我告诉她我必须马上离开德文郡时，她是那样悲伤，那样失望，那样懊悔——我永远不会忘怀。另外，她还那样信赖我，信任我！哦，上帝！我是个多么狠心的无赖！”
　　两人沉默了一阵。埃丽诺首先开口。
　　“你告诉她你不久就会回来？”
　　“我不知道告诉了她些什么，”威洛比不耐烦地答道。“毫无疑问，这与其说是由于过去的缘故，不如说是由于后来的缘故。我想不起来说了些什么——想也无用。接着，你亲爱的母亲进来了，她那样和蔼可亲，那样推心置腹，使我愈加痛苦。谢天谢地！这确实使我感到痛苦。我当时很悲伤。达什伍德小姐，你不可能知道，回想过去的悲伤对我是一种宽慰。我憎恨自己太愚蠢，太卑鄙，过去忍受的一切痛苦如今反倒使我感到洋洋得意，欣喜万分。你瞧，我走了，离开了我喜爱的人，去找那些我并不感兴趣的人。我进城的途中——我是骑自己的马走的，路上也没人作伴，因而无聊得很——没有个人可以说说话＿＿心里却是多么愉快——展望未来，一切都那么引入入胜！回顾巴顿，多么令人宽慰的情景！哦！那是一次愉快的旅行。”
　　他停住了。
　　“嗯，先生，”埃丽诺说，她虽然怜悯他，但是又急于想让他快走。“就这些？”
　　“就这些！——不——难道你忘了城里发生的事情？那封卑鄙的信！她没给你看？”
　　“看过，来往的信件我都看过。”
　　“我收到她第一封信的时候（因为我一直呆在城里，信马上就收到了），我当时的心情—一用常言说，不可名状。用更简单的话来说——也许简单得令人无动于衷——我的心情非常痛苦。那一字字、一行行，用个陈腐的比喻来说——假使那亲爱的写信人在这里的话，她会禁止使用这个比喻的———犹如一把把利剑刺进我的心窝。听说玛丽安就在城里，用同样陈腐的比喻说一—如同晴天霹雳，晴天游雳，利剑钻心！她会狠狠责备我的！她的情趣、她的见解——我相信我比对自己的情趣和见解更了解，当然也更亲切。”
　　埃丽诺的心在这次异乎寻常的谈话过程中经历了多次变化，现在不觉又软了下来。然而，她觉得自己有义务制止她的同伴抱有最后的那种想法。
　　“这是不正常的，威洛比先生。别忘了你是有妇之夫。你只要说些你认为我的确要听的内容。”
　　“玛丽安在信中对我说，她仍然像以前那样爱我——尽管我们分离了许多个星期，她的感情始终不渝，她也深信我的感情始终不渝。这些话唤起了我的悔恨之感。我说唤起了，那是因为久居伦敦，忙于事务也好，到处放荡也好，我渐渐心安理得了，变成了一个冷酷无情的恶棍。我自以为对她情淡爱弛，便硬是认为她对我也一定情淡爱弛。我对自己说，我们过去的倾心相爱只不过是闲散无聊时干的一桩区区小事，而且还要耸耸肩膀，证明事情确实如此。为了堵住一切责难，消除一切顾忌，我时常暗自说道，‘我将非常高兴地听说她嫁给了个好人家。’可是这封信使我进一步认清了自己。我感到，她对我比天下任何女人都无比可亲，而我却无耻地利用了她。但是，我和格雷小姐的事情刚刚确定，退却是不可能的。我唯一的办法就是避开你们两个人。我没有给玛丽安回信，想以此避开她的进一步注意。我一度甚至决定不去伯克利街。但是我最后断定，最明智的办法还是装成一个普通的朋友，摆出一副冷漠的神气，于是有天早晨，我眼瞅着你们都出了门，走远了，便进去留下了我的名片。”
　　“眼瞅着我们出了门？”
　　“正是如此。你若是听说我经常在注视你们，多次差一点撞见你们，你准会感到惊讶。你们的马车驶过的时候，我钻过好多商店，为的是不让你们看见。我既然住在邦德街，几乎每天都能瞧见你们中的某一位。只有坚持不懈地加以提防，只有始终不渝地想要避开你们，才能使我们分离这么久。我尽量避开米德尔顿夫妇，以及我们双方都可能认识的其他任何人。但是，我不知道他们来到城里，我想就在约翰爵士进城的第一天，还有我去詹宁斯太太家的第二天，我两次撞见了他。他邀请我晚上到他府上参加舞会。若不是他为了引诱我，对我说你们姐妹俩都要光临，我当然会放心大胆地前往助兴。第二天早晨，我又接到玛丽安寄来的一封短信——仍然那样情深意长，开诚布公，朴实无华，推心置腹—一一切都使我的行为显得可恶透顶。我无法回信。我试了试，但是一句话也写不出来。不过我相信，我那天时时刻刻都在想着她。达什伍德小姐，如果你能可怜我，就请可怜可怜我当时的处境吧。我一门心思想着你妹妹，又不得不向另一位女人扮演一个愉快的情人的角色！那三四个星期是再糟糕不过了，最后，这就不用我说啦，我硬是碰上了你们。我表现了好一幅妙不可言的丑态！那是个好不痛苦的夜晚！一方面，玛丽安美丽得像个天使，用那样的语气在喊我！哦，上帝！她向我伸出手，一双迷人的眼睛带着深沉急切的神情盯着我的面孔，要我向她作解释！另一方面，索菲接着，两人沉思了一会儿。威洛比首先从沉思中醒来，随即说道：
　　“好啦，让我赶快说完走吧。你妹妹肯定有所好转，肯定脱离危险了吗？”
　　“我们对此确信无疑。”
　　“你那可怜的母亲也确信无疑？——她可溺爱玛丽安啦。”
　　“可是那封信，威洛比，你的那封信。对此你还有什么话要说吗？”
　　“是的，是的，这要特别说说。你知道，就在第二天早晨，你妹妹又给我写了封信。你见到她写了些什么内容。我当时正在埃利森府上吃早饭，有人从我住所给我带来了她的那封信，还有其他几封。不巧，索菲娅比我眼快，先看见了这封信。一见到那么大的一封信，纸张那么精致，还有那娟秀的笔迹，这一切立即引起了她的疑心。本来，她早就听人模模糊糊地传说，我爱上了德文郡的一位年轻小姐，而她头天夜里见到的情况表明，准是这位年轻小姐，于是，她变得比以往更加妒忌。因此，她装出一副开玩笑的神气（一个被你爱上的女人作出这番举动，那是很讨人喜欢的），马上拆开信，读了起来。她的无礼行径大有收获。她读到了使她感到沮丧的内容。她的沮丧我倒可以忍受，但是她的那种感情——她的那股恶意—一却无论如何也得平息下去。总而言之，你对我妻子的写信风格有何看法？细腻，温存，地地道道的女人气——难道不是吗？”
　　“你妻子！可信上是你自己的笔迹呀。”
　　“是的，不过我的功劳只在于，我奴隶般地抄写了一些我都没脸署名的语句。原信全是她写的，她的巧妙构思，她的文雅措词。可我有什么办法？我们订了婚，一切都在准备之中，几乎连日子都择定了——不过我说起话来像个傻瓜。什么准备呀！日子呀！说老实话，我需要她的钱。处在我这样的境地，为了避免引起关系破裂，那是什么事情都做得出来的。话说到底，我用什么样的语言写回信，这会使我的人格在玛丽安和她的亲友们的心目中产生什么结果呢？只能产生一个结果。我这事等于宣布我自己是个恶棍，至于做起来是点头哈腰还是吹胡子瞪眼，那是无关紧要的。‘照她们看来，我是永远毁灭了，’我对自己说，‘我永远同她们绝缘了。她们已经把我看成了无耻之徒，这封信只会使她们把我看成恶棍。’我一面这样推想，一面无所顾忌地抄写我妻子的话，退回了玛丽安的最后几件信物。她的三封信——不巧都放在我的皮夹子里，不然我会否认有这些信，并把它们珍藏起来。可我不得不把信拿出来，连吻一下都做不到。还有那绺头发——也放在那同一只皮夹子里，我随时带在身边，不想让夫人半讨好半使坏地给搜查了——那绺心爱的头发——每一件信物都给夺走了。”
　　“你搞错了，威洛比先生，你有很大的责任，”埃丽诺说，语气中情不自禁地流露出怜悯的感情。“你不该这样谈论威洛比夫人，或者我妹妹。那是你自己作出的抉择，不是别人强加给你的。你妻子有权利要求你待她客气些，至少得尊重她。她一定很爱你，否则不会嫁给你。你这么不客气地对待她，这么不尊重地议论她，这对玛丽安并不是什么补偿，我认为也不可能使你的良心得到安慰。”
　　“不要对我谈起我妻子，”威洛比说着，重重叹了日气。“她不值得你怜悯。我们结婚的时候，她知道我不爱她。就这样，我们结了婚，来到库姆大厦度蜜月，后来又回城寻欢作乐。达什伍德小姐，现在你是可怜我了呢，还是我这些话都白说了？依你看来，我的罪过是不是比以前少了点呢，——哪怕少一丁点也好。我的用心并非总是不好。我的罪过解释掉一点没有呢？”
　　“不错，你当然解释掉一点——只是一点。总的来说，你证明了你的过失没有我想象的那么大。你证明了你的心不是那么坏，远远没有那么坏。但是我简直不知道——你使别人遭受这么大的痛苦——我简直不知道，怎么会有比这更恶劣的事情。”
　　“你妹妹痊愈之后，你能不能把我对你说的话向她重复说说？让我在她的心目中像在你的心目中一样，也能减少一点罪过。你说她己经宽恕了我。让我这样设想：她若是更好地了解我的心，了解我当前的心情，她就会更加自然、更加本能、更加温和，而不那么一本正经地宽恕我。告诉她我的痛苦、我的忏悔，告诉她我从没对她变过心。如果你愿意的话，请告诉她我此刻比以往任何时候都爱她。”
　　“我会把那些相对来说可以为你开脱的话都告诉她。但是你还没向我说明你今天来这里究竟有什么特殊缘故，也没说明你是怎么听说她生病了？，
　　“昨天夜晚，我在德鲁里巷剧院的门厅里碰见了约翰．米德尔顿爵士，他一认出我是谁（这是近两个月来的第一次），就跟我说起话来。自我结婚以来，他一直不理睬我，对此我既不惊讶，也不怨恨。可是现在，他那么温厚诚实而又糊里糊涂的一个人，怀着对我的满腔愤怒，对你妹妹的深切关心，情不自禁地想把那些他觉得应该使我气恼的事情告诉我，虽然他很可能不认为我真会十分气恼。因此，他索性直接了当地告诉我：玛丽安，达什伍德在克利夫兰得了斑疹伤寒，生命垂危＿＿那天早晨收到詹宁斯太太的一封信说，她危在旦夕——帕尔默夫妇都给吓跑了，等等。我一听大为震惊，没法装出无动于衷的样子，即使感觉迟钝的约翰爵士也察觉了这一点。他见我心里难过，忍不住也心软了。他消除了几分敌意，临别时差一点跟我握握手，并说看见我他想起了老早答应送我一只小猎犬的事。我听说你妹妹生命垂危——而且垂危中把我视为人间的最大恶棍，在最后时刻蔑视我，仇视我，我心里是什么滋味呀？因为我怎么说得清有什么可怕的阴谋不能移栽到我身上呢？有一个人准会把我描绘得无所不为。我感到很可怕！我很快打定主意，今天早晨八点就登上马车。现在你全明白了。”
　　埃丽诺没有回答。她在沉思默想：一个才貌出众的人，天生的好脾气，坦率诚实，多情善感，谁想只因独立得过早，染上了游乎好闲、放荡不羁、爱好奢侈的坏习气，于是对他的心灵、性情和幸福造成了不可弥补的损害。世态人情使他变得奢侈虚荣；而奢侈虚荣又使他变得冷漠自私。为了达到追求虚荣的可耻目的，他不惜损人利己，结果卷入了一场真正的爱情，但是对奢侈的追求，或者至少是由此而引起的拮据，又要求他牺牲这真正的爱情。每一种错误倾向不仅导致他弃善从恶，而且使他受到惩罚。先前，他不顾道义，不顾情感，不顾一切利害关系，从表面上割断了这股爱情。可是现在，这种爱情再也得不到了，却又支配了他的全部思绪。再说那门婚事，他为此曾无所顾忌地让她妹妹吃尽了苦头，如今可能证明是他自己不幸的源泉，而且是更加不可挽回的不幸的源泉。埃丽诺如此这般地沉思了几分钟，蓦地被威洛比打断了。原来，他刚从至少是同样痛苦的沉思中惊醒过来，忽地站起身准备走，顺口说道：
　　“呆在这里没有用，我该走啦。”
　　“你回城吗？”
　　“不，去库姆大厦。我去那儿有事，过一两天再从那儿回城。再见。”
　　威洛比伸出手。埃丽诺不好不把手伸给他。威洛比亲热地一把握住了。
　　“你确实有点改变了对我的看法？”他说着松开她的手，一面靠在壁炉架上，仿佛忘记了他要走。
　　埃丽诺对他说，她确实有点改变了对他的看法。她还说原谅他，同情他，祝他幸运一—甚至对他的幸福表示关心——并对他在行动上如何最有效地促进自己的幸福，提出了忠告。威洛比的回答却并不十分令人鼓舞。
　　“说到这点，”他说，“我一定尽力勉勉强强地过下去。家庭幸福是不可能的。不过，加果我能想到你和你妹妹在关心我的命运和行动，这就会成为一一这会让我有所戒备——至少，这会成为生活的动力。当然，我永远失去了玛丽安。假如我有幸可以再次自由——”
　　埃丽诺一声斥责，打断了他的话头。
　　“好吧，”威洛比答道，“再见。我要走了，提心吊胆的就怕一件事。”
　　“你这是什么意思？”
　　“就怕你妹妹结婚。”
　　“你完全错了。你现在更休想得到她啦。”
　　“但是她会让别人获得的。假若那人偏偏就是我最不能容忍的他——不过，我不想呆在这里，让你看出我伤害得最深的人，倒是我最不能原谅的人，从而让你一点也不同情我，可怜我。再见，上帝保佑你！”
　　说着，他几乎是从房里跑着出去的。 　
  
回复 引用 新鲜事
顶端
narcis

ZxID：9184039

763474鲜花 75鸡蛋

等级: 派派版主
一二三四五六七~~~
举报 只看该作者 44楼  发表于: 2013-10-30 0
Chapter forty-three

Marianne got up the next morning at her usual time; to every inquiry replied that she was better, and tried to prove herself so, by engaging in her accustomary employments. But a day spent in sitting shivering over the fire with a book in her hand, which she was unable to read, or in lying, weary and languid, on a sofa, did not speak much in favour of her amendment; and when, at last, she went early to bed, more and more indisposed, Colonel Brandon was only astonished at her sister's composure, who, though attending and nursing her the whole day, against Marianne's inclination, and forcing proper medicines on her at night, trusted, like Marianne, to the certainty and efficacy of sleep, and felt no real alarm.

A very restless and feverish night, however, disappointed the expectation of both; and when Marianne, after persisting in rising, confessed herself unable to sit up, and returned voluntarily to her bed, Elinor was very ready to adopt Mrs. Jennings's advice, of sending for the Palmers' apothecary.

He came, examined his patient, and though encouraging Miss Dashwood to expect that a very few days would restore her sister to health, yet, by pronouncing her disorder to have a putrid tendency, and allowing the word "infection" to pass his lips, gave instant alarm to Mrs. Palmer, on her baby's account. Mrs. Jennings, who had been inclined from the first to think Marianne's complaint more serious than Elinor, now looked very grave on Mr. Harris's report, and confirming Charlotte's fears and caution, urged the necessity of her immediate removal with her infant; and Mr. Palmer, though treating their apprehensions as idle, found the anxiety and importunity of his wife too great to be withstood. Her departure, therefore, was fixed on; and within an hour after Mr. Harris's arrival, she set off, with her little boy and his nurse, for the house of a near relation of Mr. Palmer's, who lived a few miles on the other side of Bath; whither her husband promised, at her earnest entreaty, to join her in a day or two; and whither she was almost equally urgent with her mother to accompany her. Mrs. Jennings, however, with a kindness of heart which made Elinor really love her, declared her resolution of not stirring from Cleveland as long as Marianne remained ill, and of endeavouring, by her own attentive care, to supply to her the place of the mother she had taken her from; and Elinor found her on every occasion a most willing and active helpmate, desirous to share in all her fatigues, and often by her better experience in nursing, of material use.

Poor Marianne, languid and low from the nature of her malady, and feeling herself universally ill, could no longer hope that tomorrow would find her recovered; and the idea of what tomorrow would have produced, but for this unlucky illness, made every ailment severe; for on that day they were to have begun their journey home; and, attended the whole way by a servant of Mrs. Jennings, were to have taken their mother by surprise on the following forenoon. The little she said was all in lamentation of this inevitable delay; though Elinor tried to raise her spirits, and make her believe, as she THEN really believed herself, that it would be a very short one.

The next day produced little or no alteration in the state of the patient; she certainly was not better, and, except that there was no amendment, did not appear worse. Their party was now farther reduced; for Mr. Palmer, though very unwilling to go as well from real humanity and good-nature, as from a dislike of appearing to be frightened away by his wife, was persuaded at last by Colonel Brandon to perform his promise of following her; and while he was preparing to go, Colonel Brandon himself, with a much greater exertion, began to talk of going likewise.—Here, however, the kindness of Mrs. Jennings interposed most acceptably; for to send the Colonel away while his love was in so much uneasiness on her sister's account, would be to deprive them both, she thought, of every comfort; and therefore telling him at once that his stay at Cleveland was necessary to herself, that she should want him to play at piquet of an evening, while Miss Dashwood was above with her sister, &c. she urged him so strongly to remain, that he, who was gratifying the first wish of his own heart by a compliance, could not long even affect to demur; especially as Mrs. Jennings's entreaty was warmly seconded by Mr. Palmer, who seemed to feel a relief to himself, in leaving behind him a person so well able to assist or advise Miss Dashwood in any emergence.

Marianne was, of course, kept in ignorance of all these arrangements. She knew not that she had been the means of sending the owners of Cleveland away, in about seven days from the time of their arrival. It gave her no surprise that she saw nothing of Mrs. Palmer; and as it gave her likewise no concern, she never mentioned her name.

Two days passed away from the time of Mr. Palmer's departure, and her situation continued, with little variation, the same. Mr. Harris, who attended her every day, still talked boldly of a speedy recovery, and Miss Dashwood was equally sanguine; but the expectation of the others was by no means so cheerful. Mrs. Jennings had determined very early in the seizure that Marianne would never get over it, and Colonel Brandon, who was chiefly of use in listening to Mrs. Jennings's forebodings, was not in a state of mind to resist their influence. He tried to reason himself out of fears, which the different judgment of the apothecary seemed to render absurd; but the many hours of each day in which he was left entirely alone, were but too favourable for the admission of every melancholy idea, and he could not expel from his mind the persuasion that he should see Marianne no more.

On the morning of the third day however, the gloomy anticipations of both were almost done away; for when Mr. Harris arrived, he declared his patient materially better. Her pulse was much stronger, and every symptom more favourable than on the preceding visit. Elinor, confirmed in every pleasant hope, was all cheerfulness; rejoicing that in her letters to her mother, she had pursued her own judgment rather than her friend's, in making very light of the indisposition which delayed them at Cleveland; and almost fixing on the time when Marianne would be able to travel.

But the day did not close so auspiciously as it began.— Towards the evening Marianne became ill again, growing more heavy, restless, and uncomfortable than before. Her sister, however, still sanguine, was willing to attribute the change to nothing more than the fatigue of having sat up to have her bed made; and carefully administering the cordials prescribed, saw her, with satisfaction, sink at last into a slumber, from which she expected the most beneficial effects. Her sleep, though not so quiet as Elinor wished to see it, lasted a considerable time; and anxious to observe the result of it herself, she resolved to sit with her during the whole of it. Mrs. Jennings, knowing nothing of any change in the patient, went unusually early to bed; her maid, who was one of the principal nurses, was recreating herself in the housekeeper's room, and Elinor remained alone with Marianne.

The repose of the latter became more and more disturbed; and her sister, who watched, with unremitting attention her continual change of posture, and heard the frequent but inarticulate sounds of complaint which passed her lips, was almost wishing to rouse her from so painful a slumber, when Marianne, suddenly awakened by some accidental noise in the house, started hastily up, and, with feverish wildness, cried out,—

"Is mama coming?—"

"Not yet," cried the other, concealing her terror, and assisting Marianne to lie down again, "but she will be here, I hope, before it is long. It is a great way, you know, from hence to Barton."

"But she must not go round by London," cried Marianne, in the same hurried manner. "I shall never see her, if she goes by London."

Elinor perceived with alarm that she was not quite herself, and, while attempting to soothe her, eagerly felt her pulse. It was lower and quicker than ever! and Marianne, still talking wildly of mama, her alarm increased so rapidly, as to determine her on sending instantly for Mr. Harris, and despatching a messenger to Barton for her mother. To consult with Colonel Brandon on the best means of effecting the latter, was a thought which immediately followed the resolution of its performance; and as soon she had rung up the maid to take her place by her sister, she hastened down to the drawing-room, where she knew he was generally to be found at a much later hour than the present.

It was no time for hesitation. Her fears and her difficulties were immediately before him. Her fears, he had no courage, no confidence to attempt the removal of:—he listened to them in silent despondence;—but her difficulties were instantly obviated, for with a readiness that seemed to speak the occasion, and the service pre-arranged in his mind, he offered himself as the messenger who should fetch Mrs. Dashwood. Elinor made no resistance that was not easily overcome. She thanked him with brief, though fervent gratitude, and while he went to hurry off his servant with a message to Mr. Harris, and an order for post-horses directly, she wrote a few lines to her mother.

The comfort of such a friend at that moment as Colonel Brandon—or such a companion for her mother,—how gratefully was it felt!—a companion whose judgment would guide, whose attendance must relieve, and whose friendship might soothe her!—as far as the shock of such a summons could be lessened to her, his presence, his manners, his assistance, would lessen it.

HE, meanwhile, whatever he might feel, acted with all the firmness of a collected mind, made every necessary arrangement with the utmost despatch, and calculated with exactness the time in which she might look for his return. Not a moment was lost in delay of any kind. The horses arrived, even before they were expected, and Colonel Brandon only pressing her hand with a look of solemnity, and a few words spoken too low to reach her ear, hurried into the carriage. It was then about twelve o'clock, and she returned to her sister's apartment to wait for the arrival of the apothecary, and to watch by her the rest of the night. It was a night of almost equal suffering to both. Hour after hour passed away in sleepless pain and delirium on Marianne's side, and in the most cruel anxiety on Elinor's, before Mr. Harris appeared. Her apprehensions once raised, paid by their excess for all her former security; and the servant who sat up with her, for she would not allow Mrs. Jennings to be called, only tortured her more, by hints of what her mistress had always thought.

Marianne's ideas were still, at intervals, fixed incoherently on her mother, and whenever she mentioned her name, it gave a pang to the heart of poor Elinor, who, reproaching herself for having trifled with so many days of illness, and wretched for some immediate relief, fancied that all relief might soon be in vain, that every thing had been delayed too long, and pictured to herself her suffering mother arriving too late to see this darling child, or to see her rational.

She was on the point of sending again for Mr. Harris, or if HE could not come, for some other advice, when the former—but not till after five o'clock—arrived. His opinion, however, made some little amends for his delay, for though acknowledging a very unexpected and unpleasant alteration in his patient, he would not allow the danger to be material, and talked of the relief which a fresh mode of treatment must procure, with a confidence which, in a lesser degree, was communicated to Elinor. He promised to call again in the course of three or four hours, and left both the patient and her anxious attendant more composed than he had found them.

With strong concern, and with many reproaches for not being called to their aid, did Mrs. Jennings hear in the morning of what had passed. Her former apprehensions, now with greater reason restored, left her no doubt of the event; and though trying to speak comfort to Elinor, her conviction of her sister's danger would not allow her to offer the comfort of hope. Her heart was really grieved. The rapid decay, the early death of a girl so young, so lovely as Marianne, must have struck a less interested person with concern. On Mrs. Jennings's compassion she had other claims. She had been for three months her companion, was still under her care, and she was known to have been greatly injured, and long unhappy. The distress of her sister too, particularly a favourite, was before her;—and as for their mother, when Mrs. Jennings considered that Marianne might probably be to her what Charlotte was to herself, her sympathy in HER sufferings was very sincere.

Mr. Harris was punctual in his second visit;—but he came to be disappointed in his hopes of what the last would produce. His medicines had failed;—the fever was unabated; and Marianne only more quiet—not more herself—remained in a heavy stupor. Elinor, catching all, and more than all, his fears in a moment, proposed to call in further advice. But he judged it unnecessary: he had still something more to try, some more fresh application, of whose success he was as confident as the last, and his visit concluded with encouraging assurances which reached the ear, but could not enter the heart of Miss Dashwood. She was calm, except when she thought of her mother; but she was almost hopeless; and in this state she continued till noon, scarcely stirring from her sister's bed, her thoughts wandering from one image of grief, one suffering friend to another, and her spirits oppressed to the utmost by the conversation of Mrs. Jennings, who scrupled not to attribute the severity and danger of this attack to the many weeks of previous indisposition which Marianne's disappointment had brought on. Elinor felt all the reasonableness of the idea, and it gave fresh misery to her reflections.

About noon, however, she began—but with a caution—a dread of disappointment which for some time kept her silent, even to her friend—to fancy, to hope she could perceive a slight amendment in her sister's pulse;—she waited, watched, and examined it again and again;—and at last, with an agitation more difficult to bury under exterior calmness, than all her foregoing distress, ventured to communicate her hopes. Mrs. Jennings, though forced, on examination, to acknowledge a temporary revival, tried to keep her young friend from indulging a thought of its continuance;—and Elinor, conning over every injunction of distrust, told herself likewise not to hope. But it was too late. Hope had already entered; and feeling all its anxious flutter, she bent over her sister to watch—she hardly knew for what. Half an hour passed away, and the favourable symptom yet blessed her. Others even arose to confirm it. Her breath, her skin, her lips, all flattered Elinor with signs of amendment; and Marianne fixed her eyes on her with a rational, though languid, gaze. Anxiety and hope now oppressed her in equal degrees, and left her no moment of tranquillity till the arrival of Mr. Harris at four o'clock;—when his assurances, his felicitations on a recovery in her sister even surpassing his expectation, gave her confidence, comfort, and tears of joy.

Marianne was in every respect materially better, and he declared her entirely out of danger. Mrs. Jennings, perhaps satisfied with the partial justification of her forebodings which had been found in their late alarm, allowed herself to trust in his judgment, and admitted, with unfeigned joy, and soon with unequivocal cheerfulness, the probability of an entire recovery.

Elinor could not be cheerful. Her joy was of a different kind, and led to any thing rather than to gaiety. Marianne restored to life, health, friends, and to her doting mother, was an idea to fill her heart with sensations of exquisite comfort, and expand it in fervent gratitude;—but it lead to no outward demonstrations of joy, no words, no smiles. All within Elinor's breast was satisfaction, silent and strong.

She continued by the side of her sister, with little intermission the whole afternoon, calming every fear, satisfying every inquiry of her enfeebled spirits, supplying every succour, and watching almost every look and every breath. The possibility of a relapse would of course, in some moments, occur to remind her of what anxiety was—but when she saw, on her frequent and minute examination, that every symptom of recovery continued, and saw Marianne at six o'clock sink into a quiet, steady, and to all appearance comfortable, sleep, she silenced every doubt.

The time was now drawing on, when Colonel Brandon might be expected back. At ten o'clock, she trusted, or at least not much later her mother would be relieved from the dreadful suspense in which she must now be travelling towards them. The Colonel, too!—perhaps scarcely less an object of pity!—Oh!—how slow was the progress of time which yet kept them in ignorance!

At seven o'clock, leaving Marianne still sweetly asleep, she joined Mrs. Jennings in the drawing-room to tea. Of breakfast she had been kept by her fears, and of dinner by their sudden reverse, from eating much;—and the present refreshment, therefore, with such feelings of content as she brought to it, was particularly welcome. Mrs. Jennings would have persuaded her, at its conclusion, to take some rest before her mother's arrival, and allow HER to take her place by Marianne; but Elinor had no sense of fatigue, no capability of sleep at that moment about her, and she was not to be kept away from her sister an unnecessary instant. Mrs. Jennings therefore attending her up stairs into the sick chamber, to satisfy herself that all continued right, left her there again to her charge and her thoughts, and retired to her own room to write letters and sleep.

The night was cold and stormy. The wind roared round the house, and the rain beat against the windows; but Elinor, all happiness within, regarded it not. Marianne slept through every blast; and the travellers—they had a rich reward in store, for every present inconvenience.

The clock struck eight. Had it been ten, Elinor would have been convinced that at that moment she heard a carriage driving up to the house; and so strong was the persuasion that she did, in spite of the almost impossibility of their being already come, that she moved into the adjoining dressing-closet and opened a window shutter, to be satisfied of the truth. She instantly saw that her ears had not deceived her. The flaring lamps of a carriage were immediately in view. By their uncertain light she thought she could discern it to be drawn by four horses; and this, while it told the excess of her poor mother's alarm, gave some explanation to such unexpected rapidity.

Never in her life had Elinor found it so difficult to be calm, as at that moment. The knowledge of what her mother must be feeling as the carriage stopt at the door—of her doubt—her dread—perhaps her despair!—and of what SHE had to tell!—with such knowledge it was impossible to be calm. All that remained to be done was to be speedy; and, therefore staying only till she could leave Mrs. Jennings's maid with her sister, she hurried down stairs.

The bustle in the vestibule, as she passed along an inner lobby, assured her that they were already in the house. She rushed to the drawing-room,—she entered it,—and saw only Willoughby.



　　第二天早晨，玛丽安还是按通常时刻起身，不管谁来问安，她都说好些了。而且为了证实自己确有好转，又忙起她惯常的事情。但是，一天里，不是哆哆嗦嗦地坐在炉前，手里拿着本书又不能读，就是有气无力、没精打采地躺在沙发上，这都远远不能表明她确有好转。后来，实在越来越不舒服，便早早上床唾觉去了。这时，布兰登上校只是对她姐姐的镇静自若感到吃惊。埃丽诺虽说不顾妹妹的反对，整天在护理她，夜里逼着她吃点合适的药，但是她和玛丽安一祥，相信睡眠肯定有效，因而并不感到真正可怕。
　　但是，玛丽安浑身发烧，折腾了一夜之后，两人的期望便落了空。玛丽安硬撑着爬下床，后来自认坐不住，便又自动回到床上。埃丽诺立即采纳了詹宁斯太太的意见，派人去请帕尔默夫妇的医生。
　　医生请来了，他诊察了病人，虽然一面鼓励达什伍德小姐说，她妹妹过不几天就能恢复健康，一面却又断言她得的是病毒性感冒，并且漏出了“传染”两个字。帕尔默夫人一听吓了一跳，很替自己的孩子担忧。詹宁斯太太对玛丽安的病，从一开始就比埃丽诺看得严重，现在听到哈里斯先生的诊断报告，脸色显得十分严肃。她认为夏洛特是该担忧，是该小心，催促她马上带着孩子离开家里。帕尔默先生虽然认为她们的忧虑毫无根据，但他又觉得妻子那副忧心如焚、纠缠不休的样子，实在叫他无法忍受，便决定让她离开。就在哈里斯先生到来后还不足一个小时，夏洛特就带着小家伙及其保姆，向住在巴思对面几英里远的帕尔默先生的一个近亲家出发了。在她的热切恳求下，她丈夫答应一两天后就去那里和她作伴。她几乎同样热切地恳求她母亲也去那里陪伴她。不过，詹宁斯太太是个好心肠的人，她因此而受到埃丽诺的真心喜爱。她当众宣布：只要玛丽安还在生病，她就决不离开克利夫兰。既然是她把玛丽安从她母亲身边带走的，那她就要通过自己的悉心照料，尽力代行母亲的职责。埃丽诺发觉，她任何时候都是个最乐于帮助别人的热心人，一心想要分担她的辛劳，而且经常凭借她丰富的护理经验，给埃丽诺以很大的帮助。
　　可怜的玛丽安被这场病折磨得无精打采，总觉得自己浑身病痛，再也无法希望明天可以复原了。一想到明天的计划全毁在这倒霉的病上，她的病势不觉变得更加严重。原来，她们明天要踏上归家的旅途，一路上有詹宁斯太太的一位仆人关照，后天下午就能让母亲出其不意地见到她们。她很少开口，但是一开口便是为这次不可避免的耽搁而哀叹。不过，埃丽诺试图帮她打起精神，让她相信被推迟的时日将是非常短暂的，而她自己当时确实是这么认为的。
　　第二天，病人的情况几乎没有发生什么变化。病势当然不见好转，但也不显得有所加重。现在，宾主的人数进一步减少了，因为帕尔默先生尽管很不愿走（这一方面是出自真正的仁爱与温厚，一方面是不想显得让妻子吓得不敢不去），但最后终于被布兰登上校说服，准备履行他对妻子的诺言。当他准备动身的时候，布兰登上校更是费尽很大劲儿，才启齿说起自己也想走。不过，好心的詹宁斯太太这时又令人心悦诚服地出面干预了。她认为，上校的情人正为她的妹妹感到焦虑不安，这时候就把他打发走，岂不是叫他们两人都不得安适。因而她立即对上校说，她需要他呆在克利夫兰，逢到晚上达什伍德小姐在楼上陪伴她妹妹时，她要让他和她一起玩皮克牌什么的。她极力挽留他，而他一旦依从就能满足他自己的最高心愿，于是只能装模作样地推托两句。特别是，詹宁斯太太的恳求得到了帕尔默先生的热烈支持，他似乎觉得，他走后留下一个人，碰到紧急情况能帮帮达什伍德小姐的忙，或者替她出出主意，他也就感到宽慰了。
　　这一切安排当然都是背着玛丽安进行的。她不知道，正是因为她的缘故，克利夫兰的主人们才在大家到来大约七天之后，便相继离家而走。她见不到帕尔默夫人并不感到诧异，也不感到关切，她从来不提起她的名字。
　　帕尔默先生走了两天，玛丽安的病情依然如故。哈里斯先生每天都来护理她，仍然一口咬定她很快就会复原。达什伍德小姐同样很乐观，但是其他人却丝毫不感到欢欣鼓舞。詹宁斯太太早在玛丽安刚开始发病不久，就断定她绝对好不了啦。布兰登上校对詹宁斯太太的可怕预言基本上只能听之任之，对其影响并无抵制能力。他试图说服自己消除忧虑，医生对病情的不同论断似乎使这种忧虑显得非常荒诞。但是他每天都要孤单单地呆上好多时间，这非常适于他滋生种种伤心的念头，他无法消除再也见不到玛丽安的忧虑。
　　然而到了第三天早晨，两人差一点打掉这种悲观心理；因为哈里斯先主来后宣布：病人的情况大有好转。她的脉搏跳动得有力多了，所有症状都比他上次来诊时要好。埃丽诺进一步证实了她的乐观想法，不禁欣喜若狂。使她感到高兴的是，她在写给母亲的信里，一直坚持自己的见解，而没有接受她朋友的判断，对于把她们耽搁在克利夫兰的那点小病完全等闲视之。她几乎确定了玛丽安可以上路的时间。
　　但是，这一天到最后并不像开始那么吉利，临近傍晚时分，玛丽安又发病了，比以前更加沉重，更加烦躁不安。不过她姐姐仍然很乐观，认为所以出现这种变化，不过是因为给她铺床的时候，让她坐了一会几。她悉心照料妹妹服了医生开的镇净剂，满意地看着她终于睡着了，她认为这会产生最有益的效果。玛丽安虽然不像埃丽诺期望的睡得那么安稳，但是却睡了相当长的时间。埃丽诺一心想要亲自观察效果如何，便决定自始至终守着她，詹宁斯太太不知道病人有任何变化，便异常早地上床睡觉去了，她的女仆（也是一个主要的护士），正在女管家房里玩耍，剩下埃丽诺一个人守着玛丽安。
　　玛丽安的睡眠变得越来越惊扰不安。她姐姐目不转睛地望着她不停地辗转反侧，听见她嘴里不住地发出一些模糊不清的呓语，简直想把她从这痛苦的睡眠中唤醒。不料玛丽安忽然被屋里的什么意外声音惊醒了，急忙爬起来，激动若狂地大声嚷道：
　　“妈妈来啦？”
　　“还没有，”埃丽诺答道。她掩饰着自己的恐惧，一面扶着玛丽安重新躺下。“不过，我想她很快就会到达。你知道，从这里到巴顿路途遥远。”
　　“她千万不要绕道由伦敦来，”玛丽安带着同样焦急的神情嚷道。“她若是去伦敦，那我永远也见不到她啦。”
　　埃丽诺惊愕地察觉，她有些不大正常了。她一面尽力安抚她，一面急切地为她诊脉。脉搏比以前跳得更弱更急促。玛丽安仍然发狂似地叨念着妈妈，埃丽诺越来越惶恐不安，因此决计立刻叫人把哈里斯先生请来，同时派使者去巴顿把母亲叫来。如何最妥当地实现这后一目标，决心刚下定，她就想到要找布兰登上校商量商量。她拉铃叫仆人来替她看守妹妹，然后马上跪下楼，匆匆来到客厅。她知道，她一般虽在比现在晚得多的时刻，也能在客厅里见到布兰登上校。
　　事不宜迟。她当即向他摆明了她的忧虑和困难。对于她的忧虑，上校没有勇气、没有信心帮她解除，只能颓然不语地听她说着。但是，她的困难却立即迎刃而解，因为上校自告奋勇要当使者，去把达什伍德太太请来。那个爽快劲儿仿佛表明，他对眼前这次帮忙，心里预先做好了安排似的。埃丽诺起先不同意，但是很容易便被说服了。她用简短而热情的语言向他表示感谢。当上校打发仆人快去给哈里斯先生送信，并且马上去租用驿马的时候，埃丽诺给她母亲写了封短信。
　　此时此刻，能得到布兰登上校这样的朋友的安慰一—母亲能有这样的人作伴，怎么能不令入感到庆幸：母亲有他作伴，他的精明能给她以指点，他的关照能消除她的忧虑，他的友情能减轻她的痛苦！只要这种召唤所引起的震惊可以减轻的话，那么凭着他的言谈举止，有他出面帮忙，就一定能起到这样的作用。
　　这当儿，上校不管有什么感受，行动起来还是踏踏实实，有条不紊。他雷厉风行地进行每一项必要的准备，精确计算埃丽诺可能期待他回来的时间。前前后后，一分一秒也不耽搁。驿马甚至不到时候就牵来了，布兰登上校只是带着严肃的神气握了握埃丽诺的手，嘀咕了几句，她也没听清说的什么，便匆匆钻进了马车。此时约摸十二点光景，埃丽诺回到妹妹房里，等候医生到来，同时接着看护病人。这是一个两人几乎同样痛苦的夜晚。玛丽安痛苦得睡不安稳，尽说胡话，埃丽诺则忧心如焚，一个小时又一个小时过去了，哈里斯先生还不见踪影。埃丽诺先前并不忧惧，现在一旦忧惧起来，倍觉痛苦不堪。因为她不愿叫醒詹宁斯太太，便让那仆人陪着她熬夜，不过她只能使埃丽诺格外苦恼，因为她把女主人的一贯想法向她做了暗示。
　　玛丽安仍然不时语无伦次地叨念着母亲。每当她提起母亲的名字，可怜的埃丽诺心里就像刀割一般。她责备自己没有把妹妹病了那么多天当作一回事，满心以为能立即给她解除痛苦。但是现在却觉得，解除痛苦的全部努力很可能马上化为泡影，一切都耽搁得太久了。她设想她那苦难的母亲来得太迟了，已经见不到这个宝贝孩子，或者说在她还省人事的时候见不到她了。
　　埃丽诺刚想再打发人去喊哈里斯先生，或者，如果他不能来，就去另请别人，不料哈里斯先生到了———不过那是五点过后才到。然而，他的意见多少弥补了一下他的耽搁，因为他虽然承认病人发生了意想不到的可怕变化，但是并不认为有多大危险。他满怀信心地谈到，用一种新的疗法可以解除病人的痛苦，而这种信心也多少传给埃丽诺几分。哈里斯先生答应过三四个小时再来看看。他离开的时候，病人和她那焦虑的看护人都比他刚见到时镇静多了。
　　到了早晨，詹宁斯太太听说了夜里的情形，不禁大为关切，一再责备她们不该不叫她来帮忙。她先前就感到忧惧，现在更有理由重新感到忧惧，因而对昨晚的事情毫不怀疑，她虽然尽量拿话安慰埃丽诺，但是她深信玛丽安病情危险，安慰中并不夹带着希望。她的心情确实十分悲痛。像玛丽安这么年轻、这么可爱的一个姑娘，居然会迅速垮掉，早早死去，这即使让无关的人见了，也会感到痛惜的。玛丽安还有别的理由得到詹宁斯太太的怜悯。她做了她三个月的同伴，现在仍然受她照顾。大家都知道她受了很大的冤屈，一直不快活。另外，她还眼看着她的姐姐（也是她最宠幸的人）痛苦难熬。至于她们的母亲，詹宁斯太太一想到玛丽安对她大概就像夏洛特对她自己一样，她对她的痛苦的同情就变得非常诚挚了。
　　哈里斯先生第二次来得很准时。他指望上次开的药方能产生些效果，但这次来一看，希望落了空。他的药没起作用，烧没有退，玛丽安只是更安静了——这有些反常——一直昏迷不醒。埃丽诺见他害怕了，自己也当即跟着害怕起来，而且害怕得比哈里斯先生有过之而无不及，于是便建议另请医生。可是哈里斯认为这没有必要，他还有点药可以试试。这是一种新药，他相信一定会有效，几乎像他相信前一种药物有效一样。最后，他又做了一番鼓舞人心的保证，可是对于这些保证，达什伍德小姐只是听在耳朵里，心里可不相信。她是镇静的，除了想起她母亲的时候。但是她几乎绝望了，直到中午，她始终处于这种状态，守在妹妹床边几乎一动不动，脑际浮现出一个个悲哀的形象、一个个痛楚的朋友。詹宁斯太太的谈话使她的情绪低沉到极点。这位太太毫无顾忌地把这次剧烈而危险的发作，归咎于玛丽安由于失恋而引起的历时数星期的身体不适。埃丽诺觉得她说的很有道理，因而精神上又增加了新的痛苦。
　　约摸正午时分，埃丽诺开始想象，觉得妹妹的弥搏可望略有好转。但是她非常谨慎，因为害怕希望落空，甚至都没向她的朋友说出。她等待着，观察着，一次次地诊脉，最后，外表的镇静实在掩饰不住内心的激动。简直比先前的痛苦还难以掩饰，她便昌味地说出了自己的希望。詹宁斯太太虽然被逼着诊了诊脉，承认暂时是有好转，但她极力想让她的年轻朋友不要奢望这种现象可以持续下去。埃丽诺仔细考虑了一切可疑现象，也告诫自己不要抱有希望。但是，这已为时过晚，她心里已经浮现出希望。希望中只感到焦灼不安，便俯身向妹妹观察——她也不知道观察什么。半个小时过去了，但她幸运地见到那个可喜的征候仍旧存在，甚至还出现别的朕兆，进一步证实了这个征候。从她的呼吸、皮肤和嘴唇上，她都欣喜地见到了病势好转的迹象。玛丽安带着清醒而倦怠的神情凝视着她。现在，忧虑和希望同样使她感到沉重，心里一时一刻不得安宁，直到哈里斯先生四点钟到来为止。这时，哈里斯对她说，她妹妹的病情好转得这么快实在出乎他的意料之外，便一再向她表示祝贺，这不由得给她带来了信心和安慰，眼里闪烁着喜悦的泪花。
　　玛丽安在各方面都大有好转，哈里斯先生宣称：她已完全脱离危险。詹宁斯太太也许对自己的预感在上次病危之际被部分证实而感到有些得意，便毅然相信了他的看法。她带着真挚的、继而是毫不含糊的喜悦承认，玛丽安很可能完全康复。
　　但埃丽诺高兴不起来。她的喜悦属于另一种形式，并没使她表现得兴高采烈。一想到玛丽安重新获得了生命，恢复了健康，可以回到朋友中间，回到溺爱她的母亲身边，她不由得感到无比欣慰，充满了炽烈的感激之情。但是，她的喜悦没有外露，既无言语，也无笑容。她的喜悦全部藏在心底，嘴里不说，感情却很强烈。
　　整个下午，她继续不间断地守在妹妹身边，安抚她的每一种忧惧，回答她那弱弱的心灵提出的每一次询问，提供她所需求的每一样东西，甚至几乎注视着她的每一个眼神、每一次呼吸。当然，有时候，旧病复发的可能性又会促使她回想起焦灼不安的滋味—一但是，她经过反复仔细的检查，发现所有的复原的征候都在继续发展。到六点钟，她见玛丽安安安稳稳，而且后来舒舒服服地睡着了，便消除了一切疑虑。
　　布兰登上校回来纳期限快到了。埃丽诺相信，母亲一路上一定提心吊胆的，但到十点钟，或者顶多再迟一点，她就会如释重负了。还有那上校!也许是个同样可怜的人儿！噢！时间过得太慢了，还把他们蒙在鼓里，
　　七点钟，埃丽诺见玛丽安还在熟睡，便来到客厅和詹宁斯太太一起用茶。她早饭因为担惊受怕，午饭因为觉得有了希望，都没吃多少。现在她带着满意的心情而来，这顿茶点就觉得特别可口。茶点用完，詹宁斯太太想动员她在母亲到来之前休息一下，让她替她守候玛丽安。谁想埃丽诺并不感觉疲劳，此刻也没有睡意，如无必要，一时一刻也不想离开妹妹。于是，詹宁斯太太陪着她上了楼，走进病人房间，满意地看到一切都很正常，便让她留在那儿照料妹妹，想她的心事，而她回到自己房里，写写信，然后睡觉。
　　这天夜里，气温寒冷，暴风雨大作。风，绕着房子怒号；雨，冲着窗户拍打。可是埃丽诺只知道心里高兴，对此全然不顾。尽管狂风阵阵，玛丽安照样酣睡着，而正在赶路的人儿—一他们虽然目前遇到种种不便，但是等待他们的是丰厚的报偿。
　　时钟敲了八点。假如是十点的话，埃丽诺定会确信她听见有马车驶到屋前。她太自信了，尽管赶路的人还几乎不可能到来，但她确信听到了马车声。她走进毗邻的化妆室，打开一扇百叶窗，想证实一下她听得不错。她当即发现，她的耳朵没有听错。一辆马车的闪烁的车灯立即映入眼帘。她想，从车灯那摇曳不定的光亮可以看出，马车由四匹马拉着。这除了表明她可怜的母亲过于惊慌之外，还可以说明他们为什么到得这么快。
　　埃丽诺的心情从来没有像当时那样难以平静。一见马车停在门口，她就意识到母亲心里会是个什么滋味，疑虑呀——恐惧呀——也许还有绝望！而她也知道她要说些什么！她一想到这一切，心里哪能平静：现在唯一需要的是快。因此，她刚把妹妹交给詹宁斯太太的仆人关照，就匆匆跑下楼。
　　她走过一道内廊的时候，听到门厅那里一片忙乱，便知道他们已经进到屋里，她朝客厅奔去—－走进去，不想只见到威洛比。 　
  
回复 引用 新鲜事
顶端
narcis

ZxID：9184039

763474鲜花 75鸡蛋

等级: 派派版主
一二三四五六七~~~
举报 只看该作者 43楼  发表于: 2013-10-30 0
Chapter forty-two

One other short call in Harley Street, in which Elinor received her brother's congratulations on their travelling so far towards Barton without any expense, and on Colonel Brandon's being to follow them to Cleveland in a day or two, completed the intercourse of the brother and sisters in town;—and a faint invitation from Fanny, to come to Norland whenever it should happen to be in their way, which of all things was the most unlikely to occur, with a more warm, though less public, assurance, from John to Elinor, of the promptitude with which he should come to see her at Delaford, was all that foretold any meeting in the country.

It amused her to observe that all her friends seemed determined to send her to Delaford;—a place, in which, of all others, she would now least chuse to visit, or wish to reside; for not only was it considered as her future home by her brother and Mrs. Jennings, but even Lucy, when they parted, gave her a pressing invitation to visit her there.

Very early in April, and tolerably early in the day, the two parties from Hanover Square and Berkeley Street set out from their respective homes, to meet, by appointment, on the road. For the convenience of Charlotte and her child, they were to be more than two days on their journey, and Mr. Palmer, travelling more expeditiously with Colonel Brandon, was to join them at Cleveland soon after their arrival.

Marianne, few as had been her hours of comfort in London, and eager as she had long been to quit it, could not, when it came to the point, bid adieu to the house in which she had for the last time enjoyed those hopes, and that confidence, in Willoughby, which were now extinguished for ever, without great pain. Nor could she leave the place in which Willoughby remained, busy in new engagements, and new schemes, in which SHE could have no share, without shedding many tears.

Elinor's satisfaction, at the moment of removal, was more positive. She had no such object for her lingering thoughts to fix on, she left no creature behind, from whom it would give her a moment's regret to be divided for ever, she was pleased to be free herself from the persecution of Lucy's friendship, she was grateful for bringing her sister away unseen by Willoughby since his marriage, and she looked forward with hope to what a few months of tranquility at Barton might do towards restoring Marianne's peace of mind, and confirming her own.

Their journey was safely performed. The second day brought them into the cherished, or the prohibited, county of Somerset, for as such was it dwelt on by turns in Marianne's imagination; and in the forenoon of the third they drove up to Cleveland.

Cleveland was a spacious, modern-built house, situated on a sloping lawn. It had no park, but the pleasure-grounds were tolerably extensive; and like every other place of the same degree of importance, it had its open shrubbery, and closer wood walk, a road of smooth gravel winding round a plantation, led to the front, the lawn was dotted over with timber, the house itself was under the guardianship of the fir, the mountain-ash, and the acacia, and a thick screen of them altogether, interspersed with tall Lombardy poplars, shut out the offices.

Marianne entered the house with a heart swelling with emotion from the consciousness of being only eighty miles from Barton, and not thirty from Combe Magna; and before she had been five minutes within its walls, while the others were busily helping Charlotte to show her child to the housekeeper, she quitted it again, stealing away through the winding shrubberies, now just beginning to be in beauty, to gain a distant eminence; where, from its Grecian temple, her eye, wandering over a wide tract of country to the south-east, could fondly rest on the farthest ridge of hills in the horizon, and fancy that from their summits Combe Magna might be seen.

In such moments of precious, invaluable misery, she rejoiced in tears of agony to be at Cleveland; and as she returned by a different circuit to the house, feeling all the happy privilege of country liberty, of wandering from place to place in free and luxurious solitude, she resolved to spend almost every hour of every day while she remained with the Palmers, in the indulgence of such solitary rambles.

She returned just in time to join the others as they quitted the house, on an excursion through its more immediate premises; and the rest of the morning was easily whiled away, in lounging round the kitchen garden, examining the bloom upon its walls, and listening to the gardener's lamentations upon blights, in dawdling through the green-house, where the loss of her favourite plants, unwarily exposed, and nipped by the lingering frost, raised the laughter of Charlotte,—and in visiting her poultry-yard, where, in the disappointed hopes of her dairy-maid, by hens forsaking their nests, or being stolen by a fox, or in the rapid decrease of a promising young brood, she found fresh sources of merriment.

The morning was fine and dry, and Marianne, in her plan of employment abroad, had not calculated for any change of weather during their stay at Cleveland. With great surprise therefore, did she find herself prevented by a settled rain from going out again after dinner. She had depended on a twilight walk to the Grecian temple, and perhaps all over the grounds, and an evening merely cold or damp would not have deterred her from it; but a heavy and settled rain even SHE could not fancy dry or pleasant weather for walking.

Their party was small, and the hours passed quietly away. Mrs. Palmer had her child, and Mrs. Jennings her carpet-work; they talked of the friends they had left behind, arranged Lady Middleton's engagements, and wondered whether Mr. Palmer and Colonel Brandon would get farther than Reading that night. Elinor, however little concerned in it, joined in their discourse; and Marianne, who had the knack of finding her way in every house to the library, however it might be avoided by the family in general, soon procured herself a book.

Nothing was wanting on Mrs. Palmer's side that constant and friendly good humour could do, to make them feel themselves welcome. The openness and heartiness of her manner more than atoned for that want of recollection and elegance which made her often deficient in the forms of politeness; her kindness, recommended by so pretty a face, was engaging; her folly, though evident was not disgusting, because it was not conceited; and Elinor could have forgiven every thing but her laugh.

The two gentlemen arrived the next day to a very late dinner, affording a pleasant enlargement of the party, and a very welcome variety to their conversation, which a long morning of the same continued rain had reduced very low.

Elinor had seen so little of Mr. Palmer, and in that little had seen so much variety in his address to her sister and herself, that she knew not what to expect to find him in his own family. She found him, however, perfectly the gentleman in his behaviour to all his visitors, and only occasionally rude to his wife and her mother; she found him very capable of being a pleasant companion, and only prevented from being so always, by too great an aptitude to fancy himself as much superior to people in general, as he must feel himself to be to Mrs. Jennings and Charlotte. For the rest of his character and habits, they were marked, as far as Elinor could perceive, with no traits at all unusual in his sex and time of life. He was nice in his eating, uncertain in his hours; fond of his child, though affecting to slight it; and idled away the mornings at billiards, which ought to have been devoted to business. She liked him, however, upon the whole, much better than she had expected, and in her heart was not sorry that she could like him no more;—not sorry to be driven by the observation of his Epicurism, his selfishness, and his conceit, to rest with complacency on the remembrance of Edward's generous temper, simple taste, and diffident feelings.

Of Edward, or at least of some of his concerns, she now received intelligence from Colonel Brandon, who had been into Dorsetshire lately; and who, treating her at once as the disinterested friend of Mr. Ferrars, and the kind of confidant of himself, talked to her a great deal of the parsonage at Delaford, described its deficiencies, and told her what he meant to do himself towards removing them.—His behaviour to her in this, as well as in every other particular, his open pleasure in meeting her after an absence of only ten days, his readiness to converse with her, and his deference for her opinion, might very well justify Mrs. Jennings's persuasion of his attachment, and would have been enough, perhaps, had not Elinor still, as from the first, believed Marianne his real favourite, to make her suspect it herself. But as it was, such a notion had scarcely ever entered her head, except by Mrs. Jennings's suggestion; and she could not help believing herself the nicest observer of the two;—she watched his eyes, while Mrs. Jennings thought only of his behaviour;—and while his looks of anxious solicitude on Marianne's feeling, in her head and throat, the beginning of a heavy cold, because unexpressed by words, entirely escaped the latter lady's observation;—SHE could discover in them the quick feelings, and needless alarm of a lover.

Two delightful twilight walks on the third and fourth evenings of her being there, not merely on the dry gravel of the shrubbery, but all over the grounds, and especially in the most distant parts of them, where there was something more of wildness than in the rest, where the trees were the oldest, and the grass was the longest and wettest, had—assisted by the still greater imprudence of sitting in her wet shoes and stockings—given Marianne a cold so violent as, though for a day or two trifled with or denied, would force itself by increasing ailments on the concern of every body, and the notice of herself. Prescriptions poured in from all quarters, and as usual, were all declined. Though heavy and feverish, with a pain in her limbs, and a cough, and a sore throat, a good night's rest was to cure her entirely; and it was with difficulty that Elinor prevailed on her, when she went to bed, to try one or two of the simplest of the remedies.



　　埃丽诺又到哈利街做了一次短暂的访问，约翰．达什伍德祝贺她们不费分文就能朝巴顿方向做这么远的旅行，而且布兰登上校过一两天也要跟到克利夫兰。这次访问结束了他们兄妹之间在城里的来往。范妮含含糊糊地邀请她们一旦方便就去诺兰庄园，这恰恰是最不可能的事情。约翰较为热情而不那么公开地对埃丽诺说，他将迅即到德拉福看望她。这就是可以预期他们在乡下会面的全部表示。
　　使埃丽诺感到有趣的是，她发现似乎所有的朋友都决计把她发落到德拉福，而那个地方如今偏偏成了她最不愿走访、最不想居住的地方。因为那里不仅被她哥哥和詹宁斯太太视为她未来的归宿，而且就连露西还在分手的时候也一再恳请她去那里看望她。
　　四月初的一个清早，汉诺佛广场和伯克利街的两帮人分头从家里出发，相约在路上碰头。为了照顾夏洛特母子，她们计划在路上走两天，帕尔默先生和布兰登上校走得快些，女眷们到达克利夫兰不久，他们就能赶到。
　　玛丽安虽说在伦敦没有多少舒心的时候，一直急着想早点离开，但是真到临走的时刻，她又不能不怀着巨大的痛苦，向那幢房子告别。因为就在这幢房子里，她最后一次享受到对威洛比寄以希望与信任的乐趣，可是如今这种希望与信任已经永远破灭了。在这个地方，威洛比还在忙于新的约会、新的规划，而这一切她却无缘分享，现在要离开了，这怎么能不叫她潸然泪下呢。
　　埃丽诺离别时倒确实感到非常高兴。她没有那样值得留恋的对象，没有抛下永远不能分离的人儿，因而不会感到一时一刻的遗憾。她庆幸自己摆脱了露西的友情所给予的烦扰，庆幸自己能把妹妹带走，而使威洛比自从结婚以来，一直未能见到她。她盼望回到巴顿安安静静地住上几个月、可以使玛丽安的心情恢复平静，也可以使她自己的心情变得更加平静。
　　旅途上她们一帆风顺，第二天便进入萨默塞特郡，在玛丽安的想象中．这里时而是个可爱的地方，时而又是个禁区。第三天午前，她们就抵达了克利夫兰。
　　克利夫兰是栋宽敞的现代建筑，坐落在一片倾斜的草坪上。四周没有花园，但是娱乐场地倒颇为宽阔。与同样显耀的其他地方一样，这里有开阔的灌木丛和纵横交错的林间小径。一条环绕种植园的光滑的砾石路，直通到屋前。草坪上，点缀着零散的树木。房子为树木所环护，冷杉、花揪、刺槐，密密层层的，间或点缀着几棵伦巴第参天杨，把那些下房遮得严严实实。
　　玛丽安走进屋思，因为意识到距离巴顿只有八十英里，距离库姆大履不到三十英里，心情不禁激动起来。她在屋里还没呆上五分钟，便趁众人帮助夏洛特给女管家瞧看小宝宝的当几，又退了出来，偷偷穿过刚刚开始呈现其姿容之美的蜿蜒伸展的灌木丛林，向远外的高地上爬去。她立在希腊式的神殿前面，目光掠过宽阔的田野向东南方向眺望，深情地落在地平线尽处的山脊上。她想，站在这些山顶上，也许能望见库姆大厦。
　　她来到了克利夫兰，在这极其难得又无比痛苦的时刻，她不禁悲喜交集，热泪夺眶而出。当她绕着另一条路回到屋里时，她感到了乡行的逍遥自在，可以随心所欲地单独行动，不受约束地到处闲逛。因此她决定，在帕尔默夫妇家里逗留期间，她每日每时都要沉迷于这样的独自漫步之中。
　　她回屋的时候，正赶上众人往外走，想到房前屋后就近走走，她便一道跟了出来。大家来到菜园，一面观赏墙上的花朵，一面听着园丁抱怨种种病虫害。接着走进暖房，因为霜冻结束得晚，再加上管理不慎，夏洛特最喜爱的几种花草被冻死了，逗得她哈哈大笑。最后来到家禽饲养场，只听饲养员失望地说起老母鸡不是弃巢而去，就是被狐狸叼走，一窝小鸡本来很有希望，不想纷纷死光，于是夏洛特又发现了新的笑料。就这样，上午余下的时间很快便消磨过去了。
　　整个上午，天气晴朗而干燥。玛丽安计划户外活动时，并没考虑她们在克利夫兰逗留期间，天气会发生什么变化。因此，她万万没有料到，晚饭后一场连绵大雨竟然使她再也出不去了。本来，她想趁着黄昏时刻，到希腊式神殿去散散步，也许能在那四周好好逛逛。如果天气仅仅是寒冷、潮湿一些，那还不至于阻挡得住她。但是，这样的连绵大雨，即使是她也不会当作干燥适意的好天气而去散步的。
　　她们伙伴不多，平平静静地消磨着时光。帕尔默夫人抱着孩子，詹宁斯太太在织地毯。她们谈论着留在城里的朋友，猜想米德尔顿夫人有何交际应酬，帕尔默先生和布兰登上校当晚能否赶过雷丁。埃丽诺虽然对此毫不关心，却也跟着她们一起谈论。玛丽安不管到了谁家，不管主人们如何防止，总有本事找到书房，不久就捞来了一本书。
　　帕尔默夫人素性和悦，待人友好，不可能使客人们感到不受欢迎。她那坦率热忱的态度大大弥补了她记忆和风度上的欠缺，这种欠缺往往使她有失风雅。她的和蔼可亲被那张漂亮的面孔一衬托，显得非常迷人。她的缺陷虽说很明显，但并不令人厌恶，因为她并不自负。除了她的笑声之外，别的东西埃丽诺都能宽容。
　　第二天，两位绅士终于到达了，赶上了一顿很迟的晚餐。屋里一下子增加了两个人，着实令人高兴。他们带来的趣事乐闻为大家的谈话增添光彩。本来，整整下了一上午的雨，大家的谈话兴致已经变得十分低落。
　　埃丽诺以前很少见到帕尔默先生，而就在那不多的接触中，她发现他对她妹妹和她自己的态度变化莫测，不知道他到了自己家里会如何对待她们。不过她发现，他对所有的客人都非常斯文，只是偶尔对他妻子和岳母有点粗野。她觉得，他本来大可成为一个可爱的伙伴，如今所以不能始终如一地做到这一点，只是因为他太自负了，总以为自己比一般人都高明，就像他认为自己比詹宁斯太太利夏洛特都高明一样。至于他个性和习性的其他方面，埃丽诺觉得，就他的性别和年纪而论，丝豪看不出有任何异乎寻常的地方。他吃食比较讲究，起居没有定时；喜爱孩子，但又假装怠慢；本该用来务正业的时间，他却一个个上午消磨在打弹子上。不过，总的来说，埃丽诺对他比原来预料的要喜欢得多，可她并不因为不能更加喜欢他而从心里感到遗憾。她瞧瞧他的贪图享乐、自私自利和骄傲自大，想起爱德华的宽宏大量、朴实无华和虚怀若谷，不由得自鸣得意起来，对此她也不感到遗憾。
　　布兰登上校最近去了一趟多塞特郡，埃丽诺从他那儿听到了爱德华的消息，至少是关于他部分情况的消息。布兰登上校既把她看作费拉斯先生的无私朋友，又把她看作他自己的知心朋友。他向她谈起了德拉福牧师公馆的大致情况，叙说了它的种种缺陷。他在这个以及其他任何具体问题上对她的态度，他在离别十天之后重新见到她时的那股毫不掩饰的高兴劲儿，他愿意和她交淡，尊重她的意见，这一切都大可证明詹宁斯太太关于他有情于她的说法很有道理。假如埃丽诺不像一开始那样仍然认定玛丽安才是他真正的心上人，那么她或许也会跟着对此产生怀疑。但在事实上，除了詹宁斯太太向她提到过以外，她几乎从没动过这样的念头。她不得不认为，她们两个比较起来，还是她自己观察得更细心：她注意他的眼睛，而詹宁斯太太只考虑到他的行为。当玛丽安觉得头昏喉痛，开始得了重伤风，布兰登上校显出焦虑不安的神情时，因为没有用言语加以表示，这副神情完全没有被詹宁斯大大所察觉，而埃丽诺却从这副神情中发现了炽热的感情和情人那种不必要的惊慌。
　　玛丽安来到这里的第三天和第四天傍晚，又两次愉快地出去散步，不仅漫步在灌木丛间的干碎石地上，而且踏遍了四周的庭园，特别是庭园的边缘地带，这里比别处更加荒凉，树木最老，草最高最潮湿。这还不算，玛丽安居然冒冒失失地穿着湿鞋湿袜子席地而坐，结果患了重感冒，头一两天虽说满不在乎，甚至矢口否认，无奈病情越来越严重，不能不引起众人的关切和她自己的重视。从四面八方源源不断地开来了处方，但通常都被谢绝。虽说她身子沉重，温度很高，四肢酸痛，咳得喉咙也痛，但是好好休息一夜就能彻底复原。她上床后，埃丽诺好不容易才说服她试用一两种最简单的处方。 　
  
回复 引用 新鲜事
顶端
narcis

ZxID：9184039

763474鲜花 75鸡蛋

等级: 派派版主
一二三四五六七~~~
举报 只看该作者 42楼  发表于: 2013-10-30 0
Chapter forty-one

Edward, having carried his thanks to Colonel Brandon, proceeded with his happiness to Lucy; and such was the excess of it by the time he reached Bartlett's Buildings, that she was able to assure Mrs. Jennings, who called on her again the next day with her congratulations, that she had never seen him in such spirits before in her life.

Her own happiness, and her own spirits, were at least very certain; and she joined Mrs. Jennings most heartily in her expectation of their being all comfortably together in Delaford Parsonage before Michaelmas. So far was she, at the same time, from any backwardness to give Elinor that credit which Edward would give her, that she spoke of her friendship for them both with the most grateful warmth, was ready to own all their obligation to her, and openly declared that no exertion for their good on Miss Dashwood's part, either present or future, would ever surprise her, for she believed her capable of doing any thing in the world for those she really valued. As for Colonel Brandon, she was not only ready to worship him as a saint, but was moreover truly anxious that he should be treated as one in all worldly concerns; anxious that his tithes should be raised to the utmost; and scarcely resolved to avail herself, at Delaford, as far as she possibly could, of his servants, his carriage, his cows, and his poultry.

It was now above a week since John Dashwood had called in Berkeley Street, and as since that time no notice had been taken by them of his wife's indisposition, beyond one verbal enquiry, Elinor began to feel it necessary to pay her a visit.—This was an obligation, however, which not only opposed her own inclination, but which had not the assistance of any encouragement from her companions. Marianne, not contented with absolutely refusing to go herself, was very urgent to prevent her sister's going at all; and Mrs. Jennings, though her carriage was always at Elinor's service, so very much disliked Mrs. John Dashwood, that not even her curiosity to see how she looked after the late discovery, nor her strong desire to affront her by taking Edward's part, could overcome her unwillingness to be in her company again. The consequence was, that Elinor set out by herself to pay a visit, for which no one could really have less inclination, and to run the risk of a tete-a-tete with a woman, whom neither of the others had so much reason to dislike.

Mrs. Dashwood was denied; but before the carriage could turn from the house, her husband accidentally came out. He expressed great pleasure in meeting Elinor, told her that he had been just going to call in Berkeley Street, and, assuring her that Fanny would be very glad to see her, invited her to come in.

They walked up stairs in to the drawing-room.—Nobody was there.

"Fanny is in her own room, I suppose," said he:—"I will go to her presently, for I am sure she will not have the least objection in the world to seeing YOU.— Very far from it, indeed. NOW especially there cannot be—but however, you and Marianne were always great favourites.—Why would not Marianne come?"—

Elinor made what excuse she could for her.

"I am not sorry to see you alone," he replied, "for I have a good deal to say to you. This living of Colonel Brandon's—can it be true?—has he really given it to Edward?—I heard it yesterday by chance, and was coming to you on purpose to enquire farther about it."

"It is perfectly true.—Colonel Brandon has given the living of Delaford to Edward."

"Really!—Well, this is very astonishing!—no relationship!—no connection between them!—and now that livings fetch such a price!—what was the value of this?"

"About two hundred a year."

"Very well—and for the next presentation to a living of that value—supposing the late incumbent to have been old and sickly, and likely to vacate it soon—he might have got I dare say—fourteen hundred pounds. And how came he not to have settled that matter before this person's death?—Now indeed it would be too late to sell it, but a man of Colonel Brandon's sense!—I wonder he should be so improvident in a point of such common, such natural, concern!—Well, I am convinced that there is a vast deal of inconsistency in almost every human character. I suppose, however—on recollection—that the case may probably be THIS. Edward is only to hold the living till the person to whom the Colonel has really sold the presentation, is old enough to take it.—Aye, aye, that is the fact, depend upon it."

Elinor contradicted it, however, very positively; and by relating that she had herself been employed in conveying the offer from Colonel Brandon to Edward, and, therefore, must understand the terms on which it was given, obliged him to submit to her authority.

"It is truly astonishing!"—he cried, after hearing what she said—"what could be the Colonel's motive?"

"A very simple one—to be of use to Mr. Ferrars."

"Well, well; whatever Colonel Brandon may be, Edward is a very lucky man.—You will not mention the matter to Fanny, however, for though I have broke it to her, and she bears it vastly well,—she will not like to hear it much talked of."

Elinor had some difficulty here to refrain from observing, that she thought Fanny might have borne with composure, an acquisition of wealth to her brother, by which neither she nor her child could be possibly impoverished.

"Mrs. Ferrars," added he, lowering his voice to the tone becoming so important a subject, "knows nothing about it at present, and I believe it will be best to keep it entirely concealed from her as long as may be.— When the marriage takes place, I fear she must hear of it all."

"But why should such precaution be used?—Though it is not to be supposed that Mrs. Ferrars can have the smallest satisfaction in knowing that her son has money enough to live upon,—for THAT must be quite out of the question; yet why, upon her late behaviour, is she supposed to feel at all?—She has done with her son, she cast him off for ever, and has made all those over whom she had any influence, cast him off likewise. Surely, after doing so, she cannot be imagined liable to any impression of sorrow or of joy on his account—she cannot be interested in any thing that befalls him.— She would not be so weak as to throw away the comfort of a child, and yet retain the anxiety of a parent!"

"Ah! Elinor," said John, "your reasoning is very good, but it is founded on ignorance of human nature. When Edward's unhappy match takes place, depend upon it his mother will feel as much as if she had never discarded him; and, therefore every circumstance that may accelerate that dreadful event, must be concealed from her as much as possible. Mrs. Ferrars can never forget that Edward is her son."

"You surprise me; I should think it must nearly have escaped her memory by THIS time."

"You wrong her exceedingly. Mrs. Ferrars is one of the most affectionate mothers in the world."

Elinor was silent.

"We think NOW,"—said Mr. Dashwood, after a short pause, "of Robert's marrying Miss Morton."

Elinor, smiling at the grave and decisive importance of her brother's tone, calmly replied,

"The lady, I suppose, has no choice in the affair."

"Choice!—how do you mean?"

"I only mean that I suppose, from your manner of speaking, it must be the same to Miss Morton whether she marry Edward or Robert."

"Certainly, there can be no difference; for Robert will now to all intents and purposes be considered as the eldest son;—and as to any thing else, they are both very agreeable young men: I do not know that one is superior to the other."

Elinor said no more, and John was also for a short time silent.—His reflections ended thus.

"Of ONE thing, my dear sister," kindly taking her hand, and speaking in an awful whisper,—"I may assure you;—and I WILL do it, because I know it must gratify you. I have good reason to think—indeed I have it from the best authority, or I should not repeat it, for otherwise it would be very wrong to say any thing about it—but I have it from the very best authority—not that I ever precisely heard Mrs. Ferrars say it herself—but her daughter DID, and I have it from her—That in short, whatever objections there might be against a certain—a certain connection—you understand me—it would have been far preferable to her, it would not have given her half the vexation that THIS does. I was exceedingly pleased to hear that Mrs. Ferrars considered it in that light—a very gratifying circumstance you know to us all. 'It would have been beyond comparison,' she said, 'the least evil of the two, and she would be glad to compound now for nothing worse.' But however, all that is quite out of the question—not to be thought of or mentioned—as to any attachment you know—it never could be—all that is gone by. But I thought I would just tell you of this, because I knew how much it must please you. Not that you have any reason to regret, my dear Elinor. There is no doubt of your doing exceedingly well—quite as well, or better, perhaps, all things considered. Has Colonel Brandon been with you lately?"

Elinor had heard enough, if not to gratify her vanity, and raise her self-importance, to agitate her nerves and fill her mind;—and she was therefore glad to be spared from the necessity of saying much in reply herself, and from the danger of hearing any thing more from her brother, by the entrance of Mr. Robert Ferrars. After a few moments' chat, John Dashwood, recollecting that Fanny was yet uninformed of her sister's being there, quitted the room in quest of her; and Elinor was left to improve her acquaintance with Robert, who, by the gay unconcern, the happy self-complacency of his manner while enjoying so unfair a division of his mother's love and liberality, to the prejudice of his banished brother, earned only by his own dissipated course of life, and that brother's integrity, was confirming her most unfavourable opinion of his head and heart.

They had scarcely been two minutes by themselves, before he began to speak of Edward; for he, too, had heard of the living, and was very inquisitive on the subject. Elinor repeated the particulars of it, as she had given them to John; and their effect on Robert, though very different, was not less striking than it had been on HIM. He laughed most immoderately. The idea of Edward's being a clergyman, and living in a small parsonage-house, diverted him beyond measure;—and when to that was added the fanciful imagery of Edward reading prayers in a white surplice, and publishing the banns of marriage between John Smith and Mary Brown, he could conceive nothing more ridiculous.

Elinor, while she waited in silence and immovable gravity, the conclusion of such folly, could not restrain her eyes from being fixed on him with a look that spoke all the contempt it excited. It was a look, however, very well bestowed, for it relieved her own feelings, and gave no intelligence to him. He was recalled from wit to wisdom, not by any reproof of her's, but by his own sensibility.

"We may treat it as a joke," said he, at last, recovering from the affected laugh which had considerably lengthened out the genuine gaiety of the moment—"but, upon my soul, it is a most serious business. Poor Edward! he is ruined for ever. I am extremely sorry for it—for I know him to be a very good-hearted creature; as well-meaning a fellow perhaps, as any in the world. You must not judge of him, Miss Dashwood, from YOUR slight acquaintance.—Poor Edward!—His manners are certainly not the happiest in nature.—But we are not all born, you know, with the same powers,—the same address.— Poor fellow!—to see him in a circle of strangers!—to be sure it was pitiable enough!—but upon my soul, I believe he has as good a heart as any in the kingdom; and I declare and protest to you I never was so shocked in my life, as when it all burst forth. I could not believe it.— My mother was the first person who told me of it; and I, feeling myself called on to act with resolution, immediately said to her, 'My dear madam, I do not know what you may intend to do on the occasion, but as for myself, I must say, that if Edward does marry this young woman, I never will see him again.' That was what I said immediately.— I was most uncommonly shocked, indeed!—Poor Edward!—he has done for himself completely—shut himself out for ever from all decent society!—but, as I directly said to my mother, I am not in the least surprised at it; from his style of education, it was always to be expected. My poor mother was half frantic."

"Have you ever seen the lady?"

"Yes; once, while she was staying in this house, I happened to drop in for ten minutes; and I saw quite enough of her. The merest awkward country girl, without style, or elegance, and almost without beauty.— I remember her perfectly. Just the kind of girl I should suppose likely to captivate poor Edward. I offered immediately, as soon as my mother related the affair to me, to talk to him myself, and dissuade him from the match; but it was too late THEN, I found, to do any thing, for unluckily, I was not in the way at first, and knew nothing of it till after the breach had taken place, when it was not for me, you know, to interfere. But had I been informed of it a few hours earlier—I think it is most probable—that something might have been hit on. I certainly should have represented it to Edward in a very strong light. 'My dear fellow,' I should have said, 'consider what you are doing. You are making a most disgraceful connection, and such a one as your family are unanimous in disapproving.' I cannot help thinking, in short, that means might have been found. But now it is all too late. He must be starved, you know;—that is certain; absolutely starved."

He had just settled this point with great composure, when the entrance of Mrs. John Dashwood put an end to the subject. But though SHE never spoke of it out of her own family, Elinor could see its influence on her mind, in the something like confusion of countenance with which she entered, and an attempt at cordiality in her behaviour to herself. She even proceeded so far as to be concerned to find that Elinor and her sister were so soon to leave town, as she had hoped to see more of them;—an exertion in which her husband, who attended her into the room, and hung enamoured over her accents, seemed to distinguish every thing that was most affectionate and graceful.



　　爱德华先到布兰登上校那里道谢，随后又高高兴兴地去找露西。到了巴特利特大楼，他实在太高兴了，詹宁斯太太第二天来道喜时，露西对她说，她生平从未见过他如此兴高采烈。
　　露西自己无疑也是喜气洋洋的。她同詹宁斯太太一起，由衷地期望他们大家能在米迦勒节之前安适地聚会在德拉福牧师公馆。同时，听到爱德华称赞埃丽诺，她也不甘落后，一说起她对他们两人的友情，总是感激不尽，激动不已，立刻承认她对他们恩重如山。她公开宣称，无论现在还是将来，达什伍德小姐再怎么对他们尽心尽力，她都不会感到惊讶，因为她为她真正器重的人办事，总是什么都肯干。至于布兰登上校，她不仅愿意把他尊为圣人，而且迫切希望在一切世俗事物中，确实把他当作圣人对待。她渴望他向教区缴纳的什一税能提高到最大限度。她还暗暗下定决心，到了德拉福，她要尽可能充分利用他的仆人、马车、奶牛和家禽。
　　自从约翰．达什伍德走访伯克利街，已有一个多星期了。从那之后大家除了口头上询问过一次以外，再也没有理会他妻子的病情，因而埃丽诺觉得有必要去探望她一次。然而，履行这种义务不仅违背她自己的心愿，而且也得不到她同伴的鼓励。玛丽安不仅自已断然不肯去，还拼命阻止姐姐去。詹宁斯太太虽然允许埃丽诺随时可以使用她的马车，但是她太厌恶约翰．达什伍德夫人了。即使很想看看她最近发现她弟弟的隐情之后是个什么样子，即使很想当着她的面替爱德华打抱不平，却无论如何也不愿意再去见她。结果，埃丽诺只好单独前去进行一次她最不心甘情愿的访问，而且还冒着同嫂子单独会面的危险。对于这个女人，其他两位女士都没有像她那样有充分理由感到深恶痛绝。
　　马车驶到屋前，仆人说达什伍德夫人不在家；但是没等马车驶开，她丈夫碰巧走了出来。他表示见到埃丽诺非常高兴，告诉她他刚准备去伯克利街拜访，还说范妮见到她定会十分高兴，邀请她快进屋去。
　　他们走上楼，来到客厅。里面没有人。
　　“我想范妮在她自己房里，”约翰说，“我就去叫她，我想她决不会不愿意见你——的确不会。特别是现在，不会有什么——不过，我们一向最喜欢你和玛丽安。玛丽安怎么不来？”
　　埃丽诺尽量给妹妹找了个借口。
　　“我想单独见见你也好，约翰回答说，“因为我有许多话要对你说。布兰登上校的这个牧师职位——这能是真的吗？他真的赠给了爱德华？我是昨天偶然听说的，正想去你那里再打听一下。”
　　“这是千真万确的。布兰登上校把德拉福的牧师职位送给了爱德华。”
　　“真的：哦！这真叫人吃惊！他们既不沾亲带故，又没有什么交往！再加上牧师的薪俸又那么高！给他多少钱？”
　　“一年大约二百镑。”
　　“不错嘛——至于给继任牧师那个数额的俸禄——假定在已故牧师年老多病，牧师职位马上就要出现空缺的时候就推举，那他也许能得到一干四百镑。但他为什么不在老牧师去世前就把这桩事料理妥当？现在嘛，确实为时太晚了，再推销就难办了，可是布兰登上校是个聪明人啊！我感到奇怪，在这么平平常常的一件事情上，他竟然这么没有远见！不过我相信，几乎每个人的性情都是变化无常的。经过考虑，我觉得情况很可能是这样的：爱德华只是暂时担任这个职务，等真正把圣职买走的那个人长大了，再正式交给他。是的，是的，就是这么回事，请相信我好啦。”
　　可是，埃丽诺断然对他进行反驳。她说她受布兰登上校的委托，负责向爱德华转告这项提议，因而应该了解赠送条件的。她哥哥见她说得有根有据，只好折服。
　　“这事确实令人惊讶！”他听了她的话以后嚷道，“上校的用心何在呢？”
　　“用心很简单——想帮助费拉斯先生。”
　　“好啦，好啦，不管布兰登上校怎么样，爱德华还是个非常幸运的人！不过，你别向范妮提起这件事。虽然我已经向她透露过，她也能泰然处之，但她总是不喜欢听人说来说去的。”
　　埃丽诺听到这里，好不容易才忍住没说出这话：她认为范妮若是真的听说她弟弟发了财，倒会泰然处之，因为这样一来，她和她孩子便不会受穷了。
　　“现在，”约翰接着说，声音压得很低，以便同这么个重要话题协调起来，“费拉斯太太还不知道这件事，我想最好彻底瞒着她，能瞒多久瞒多久。他们一结婚，恐怕她就全知道了。”
　　“可是为什么要这么小心翼翼呢？本来，谁也不认为费拉斯太太会对她儿子有足够的钱维持生活感到满意，因为那根本不可能。鉴于她最近的所作所为，为什么还要期望她会有什么感情呢？她已经和她儿子断绝了关系，永远抛弃了他，还迫使她可以左右的那些人也都抛弃了他。的确，她做出这种事情之后，你就不能设想她会为爱德华而感到悲伤或喜悦。她不可能对爱德华遇到的任何事情发生兴趣。她并不是个精神脆弱的人，连孩子的安适都不顾了，还会感到做母亲的不安！”
　　“啊！埃丽诺，”约翰说，“你这个道理讲得很好，但那是建立在不懂人类天性的基础上。等到爱德华举办他那不幸的婚事的时候，保险地母亲会觉得像是从没抛弃他似的。因此，可能促进那起可怕事件的每个情况，都得尽量瞒着她。费拉斯太太决不会忘记爱德华是她的儿子。”
　　“你真使我吃惊。我倒是认为，她此时一定忘得差不多一干二净了。”
　　“你完全冤枉了她。费拉斯太太是天下最慈爱的一位母亲。”
　　埃丽诺默然不语。
　　“我们现在正在考虑，”达什伍德先生停了片刻，然后说，“让罗伯特娶莫顿小姐。”
　　埃丽诺听到她哥哥那一本正经、果决自负的口气，不禁微微一笑，一面镇静地答道：
　　“我想，这位小姐在这件事上是没有选择权的。”
　　“选择权！你这是什么意思？”
　　“照你的说法推想，莫顿小姐不管嫁给爱德华还是嫁给罗伯特，反正都是一个样，我就是这个意思。”
　　“当然，是没有什么区别，因为罗伯特实际上要被当作长子了。至于说到别的方面，他们都是很讨人喜欢的年轻人一—我不知道哪个比哪个好。”
　　埃丽诺没再说话，约翰也沉默了一会儿。他最后谈出了这样的看法：
　　“有一件事，亲爱的妹妹，”他温存地握住她的手，悄声低语地说道，“我可以告诉你，而且我也愿意告诉你，因为我知道这一定会使你感到高兴。我有充分理由认为一—的确，我是从最可靠的来源得到的消息，不然我就不会再重复了，因为否则的话，就什么也不该说——不过我是从最可靠的来源得到的消息——我倒不是明言直语地听见费拉斯太太亲口说过，但是她女儿听到了，我是从她那儿听来的。总而言之，有那么一门亲事——你明白我的意思，不管它有什么缺陷，却会更合费拉斯太太的心意，也远远不会像这门亲事那样给她带来这么多的烦恼，我很高兴地听说费拉斯太太用这种观点考虑问题。你知道，这对我们大家是一个十分可喜的情况。‘两害相权取其轻，’她说，‘这本来是无法比较的，我现在决不肯弃轻取重。’然而，那事是根本不可能的——想也不要想，提也不要提。至于说到感情，你知道——那决不可能——已经全部付诸东流了。但是，我想还是告诉你，我知道这一定会使你感到非常高兴。亲爱的埃丽诺，你没有任何理由感到懊悔。你无疑是极其走运的——通盘考虑一下，简直同样理想，也许更加理想。布兰登上校最近和你在一起过吗？”
　　埃丽诺听到这些话，非但没有满足她的虚荣心，没有激起她的自负感，反而搞得她神经紧张，头脑发胀。因此，一见罗伯特．费拉斯先生进来，她感到非常高兴，这样她就不用回答她哥哥，也不用听他再说三道四了。大家闲谈了一会，约翰．达什伍德想起范妮还不知道他妹妹来了，便走出房去找她，留下埃丽诺可以进一步增进对罗伯特的了解。此人举止轻浮，无忧无虑，沾沾自喜，想不到只是因为生活放荡，便得到了他母亲的过分宠爱和厚待。而他哥哥却因为为人正直，反被驱出了家门。这一切进一步坚定了她对他的头脑和心地的反感。
　　他们在一起刚刚呆了两分钟，罗伯特就谈起了爱德华，因为他也听说了那个牧师职位，很想打听打听。埃丽诺就像刚才给约翰介绍的那样，把事情的来龙去脉又细说了一遍。罗伯特的反应虽然大不相同，但却和约翰的反应一样惹人注意。他肆无忌惮地纵声大笑。一想到爱德华要当牧师，住在一幢小小的牧师公馆里，真叫他乐不可支。再加上异想天开地想到爱德华穿着白色法衣念祈祷文，发布约翰．史密斯和玛丽．布朗即将结婚的公告，这更使他感到滑稽透顶。
　　埃丽诺一面沉默不语、肃然不动地等着他停止这种愚蠢的举动，一面又情不自禁地凝视着他，目光里流露出极为蔑视的神气。然而，这股神气表现得恰到好处，既发泄了她自己的愤懑之情，又叫对方浑然不觉，罗伯特凭借自己的情感，而不是由于受到她的指责的缘故，逐渐从嬉笑中恢复了理智。
　　“我们可以把这当作玩笑，”他终于止住了笑声，说道。其实，真正没有那么多好乐的，他只不过想要矫揉造作地多笑一阵子罢了。“不过，说句真心话，这是一件极其严肃的事情。可怜的爱德华！他水远被毁灭了。我感到万分惋惜，因为我知道他是个好心人，也许是个心肠比谁都好的人。达什伍德小姐，你不能凭着你和他的泛泛之交，就对他妄下结论。可怜的爱德华！他的言谈举止当然不是最讨人喜欢的。不过你知道，我们大家生下来并不是样样能力一般齐——言谈举止也不一致。可怜的家伙！你若是见他和一伙生人在一起，那可真够可怜的！不过，说句良心话，我相信他有一副好心肠，好得不亚于王国的任何人。说实在的，这事猛然一出来，我生平从没那么震惊过。我简直不敢相信。我母亲第一个把这件事告诉了我，我觉得她是求我采取果断行动，于是我立即对她说：‘亲爱的母亲，我不知道你在这个关头会打算怎么办，但是就我而论，我要说，如果爱德华真的娶了这个年轻女人，那我决不要再见到他。’这就是我当时说的话。的确，我这一惊吃得非同小可！可怜的爱德华！他完全把自己葬送了！永远把自己排除在上流社会之外！不过，正如我立即向我母亲说的，我对此一点也不感到惊讶。从他所受的教育方式看，他总要出这种事的。我可怜的母亲简直有点发疯了。”
　　“你见过那位小姐吗？”
　　“是的，见过一次，当她呆在这座房子里的时候。我偶然进来逗留了十分钟，把她好好看了看。只不过是个别别扭扭的乡下姑娘，既不风流，也不漂亮。我还清清楚楚地记得她。我想她就是可以迷住可怜的爱德华的那种姑娘。我母亲把事情对我一说，我就立即提出要亲自和他谈谈，说服他放弃这门婚事。但是我发现，当时已经为时过晚，无法挽救了。因为不幸的是，我一开始不在家，直到关系破裂之后，我才知道这件事，不过你知道，这时候我已经无法干预了。我若是早得知几个小时的话，我想十有八九是可以想出办法来的。我势必会极力向爱德华陈说的。‘我的好伙计，’我会说，‘考虑一下你这是在做什么。你在谋求一桩极不体面的婚事，遭到了你一家人的一致反对。’总之一句话，我认为当时是有办法的。但是现在太晚了。你知道，他肯定要挨饿，这是确定无疑的，绝对要挨饿。”
　　罗伯特刚刚泰然自若地说完这一点，约翰．达什伍德夫人走了进来，打断了这个话题。不过，虽然她从不同外人谈论这件事，可埃丽诺还是看得出来这件事给她精神上带来的影响：她才进来时，神气就有点慌乱，后来又试图对埃丽诺表现得热诚些。当她发现埃丽诺和她妹妹很快就要离开城里时，她甚至还表示关切，好像她一直希望能多见见她们。她一面在说，陪她一起进来的丈夫一面在洗耳恭听，好像哪里说得最富有感情，哪里说得最温文尔雅，他都能辨别得一清二楚。 　
  
回复 引用 新鲜事
顶端
narcis

ZxID：9184039

763474鲜花 75鸡蛋

等级: 派派版主
一二三四五六七~~~
举报 只看该作者 41楼  发表于: 2013-10-30 0
Chapter forty

"Well, Miss Dashwood," said Mrs. Jennings, sagaciously smiling, as soon as the gentleman had withdrawn, "I do not ask you what the Colonel has been saying to you; for though, upon my honour, I tried to keep out of hearing, I could not help catching enough to understand his business. And I assure you I never was better pleased in my life, and I wish you joy of it with all my heart."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Elinor. "It is a matter of great joy to me; and I feel the goodness of Colonel Brandon most sensibly. There are not many men who would act as he has done. Few people who have so compassionate a heart! I never was more astonished in my life."

"Lord! my dear, you are very modest. I an't the least astonished at it in the world, for I have often thought of late, there was nothing more likely to happen."

"You judged from your knowledge of the Colonel's general benevolence; but at least you could not foresee that the opportunity would so very soon occur."

"Opportunity!" repeated Mrs. Jennings—"Oh! as to that, when a man has once made up his mind to such a thing, somehow or other he will soon find an opportunity. Well, my dear, I wish you joy of it again and again; and if ever there was a happy couple in the world, I think I shall soon know where to look for them."

"You mean to go to Delaford after them I suppose," said Elinor, with a faint smile.

"Aye, my dear, that I do, indeed. And as to the house being a bad one, I do not know what the Colonel would be at, for it is as good a one as ever I saw."

"He spoke of its being out of repair."

"Well, and whose fault is that? why don't he repair it?—who should do it but himself?"

They were interrupted by the servant's coming in to announce the carriage being at the door; and Mrs. Jennings immediately preparing to go, said,—

"Well, my dear, I must be gone before I have had half my talk out. But, however, we may have it all over in the evening; for we shall be quite alone. I do not ask you to go with me, for I dare say your mind is too full of the matter to care for company; and besides, you must long to tell your sister all about it."

Marianne had left the room before the conversation began.

"Certainly, ma'am, I shall tell Marianne of it; but I shall not mention it at present to any body else."

"Oh! very well," said Mrs. Jennings rather disappointed. "Then you would not have me tell it to Lucy, for I think of going as far as Holborn to-day."

"No, ma'am, not even Lucy if you please. One day's delay will not be very material; and till I have written to Mr. Ferrars, I think it ought not to be mentioned to any body else. I shall do THAT directly. It is of importance that no time should be lost with him, for he will of course have much to do relative to his ordination."

This speech at first puzzled Mrs. Jennings exceedingly. Why Mr. Ferrars was to have been written to about it in such a hurry, she could not immediately comprehend. A few moments' reflection, however, produced a very happy idea, and she exclaimed;—

"Oh, ho!—I understand you. Mr. Ferrars is to be the man. Well, so much the better for him. Ay, to be sure, he must be ordained in readiness; and I am very glad to find things are so forward between you. But, my dear, is not this rather out of character? Should not the Colonel write himself?—sure, he is the proper person."

Elinor did not quite understand the beginning of Mrs. Jennings's speech, neither did she think it worth inquiring into; and therefore only replied to its conclusion.

"Colonel Brandon is so delicate a man, that he rather wished any one to announce his intentions to Mr. Ferrars than himself."

"And so YOU are forced to do it. Well THAT is an odd kind of delicacy! However, I will not disturb you (seeing her preparing to write.) You know your own concerns best. So goodby, my dear. I have not heard of any thing to please me so well since Charlotte was brought to bed."

And away she went; but returning again in a moment,

"I have just been thinking of Betty's sister, my dear. I should be very glad to get her so good a mistress. But whether she would do for a lady's maid, I am sure I can't tell. She is an excellent housemaid, and works very well at her needle. However, you will think of all that at your leisure."

"Certainly, ma'am," replied Elinor, not hearing much of what she said, and more anxious to be alone, than to be mistress of the subject.

How she should begin—how she should express herself in her note to Edward, was now all her concern. The particular circumstances between them made a difficulty of that which to any other person would have been the easiest thing in the world; but she equally feared to say too much or too little, and sat deliberating over her paper, with the pen in her hand, till broken in on by the entrance of Edward himself.

He had met Mrs. Jennings at the door in her way to the carriage, as he came to leave his farewell card; and she, after apologising for not returning herself, had obliged him to enter, by saying that Miss Dashwood was above, and wanted to speak with him on very particular business.

Elinor had just been congratulating herself, in the midst of her perplexity, that however difficult it might be to express herself properly by letter, it was at least preferable to giving the information by word of mouth, when her visitor entered, to force her upon this greatest exertion of all. Her astonishment and confusion were very great on his so sudden appearance. She had not seen him before since his engagement became public, and therefore not since his knowing her to be acquainted with it; which, with the consciousness of what she had been thinking of, and what she had to tell him, made her feel particularly uncomfortable for some minutes. He too was much distressed; and they sat down together in a most promising state of embarrassment.—Whether he had asked her pardon for his intrusion on first coming into the room, he could not recollect; but determining to be on the safe side, he made his apology in form as soon as he could say any thing, after taking a chair.

"Mrs. Jennings told me," said he, "that you wished to speak with me, at least I understood her so—or I certainly should not have intruded on you in such a manner; though at the same time, I should have been extremely sorry to leave London without seeing you and your sister; especially as it will most likely be some time—it is not probable that I should soon have the pleasure of meeting you again. I go to Oxford tomorrow."

"You would not have gone, however," said Elinor, recovering herself, and determined to get over what she so much dreaded as soon as possible, "without receiving our good wishes, even if we had not been able to give them in person. Mrs. Jennings was quite right in what she said. I have something of consequence to inform you of, which I was on the point of communicating by paper. I am charged with a most agreeable office (breathing rather faster than usual as she spoke.) Colonel Brandon, who was here only ten minutes ago, has desired me to say, that understanding you mean to take orders, he has great pleasure in offering you the living of Delaford now just vacant, and only wishes it were more valuable. Allow me to congratulate you on having so respectable and well-judging a friend, and to join in his wish that the living—it is about two hundred a-year—were much more considerable, and such as might better enable you to—as might be more than a temporary accommodation to yourself—such, in short, as might establish all your views of happiness."

What Edward felt, as he could not say it himself, it cannot be expected that any one else should say for him. He LOOKED all the astonishment which such unexpected, such unthought-of information could not fail of exciting; but he said only these two words,

"Colonel Brandon!"

"Yes," continued Elinor, gathering more resolution, as some of the worst was over, "Colonel Brandon means it as a testimony of his concern for what has lately passed—for the cruel situation in which the unjustifiable conduct of your family has placed you—a concern which I am sure Marianne, myself, and all your friends, must share; and likewise as a proof of his high esteem for your general character, and his particular approbation of your behaviour on the present occasion."

"Colonel Brandon give me a living!—Can it be possible?"

"The unkindness of your own relations has made you astonished to find friendship any where."

"No," replied be, with sudden consciousness, "not to find it in you; for I cannot be ignorant that to you, to your goodness, I owe it all.—I feel it—I would express it if I could—but, as you well know, I am no orator."

"You are very much mistaken. I do assure you that you owe it entirely, at least almost entirely, to your own merit, and Colonel Brandon's discernment of it. I have had no hand in it. I did not even know, till I understood his design, that the living was vacant; nor had it ever occurred to me that he might have had such a living in his gift. As a friend of mine, of my family, he may, perhaps—indeed I know he HAS, still greater pleasure in bestowing it; but, upon my word, you owe nothing to my solicitation."

Truth obliged her to acknowledge some small share in the action, but she was at the same time so unwilling to appear as the benefactress of Edward, that she acknowledged it with hesitation; which probably contributed to fix that suspicion in his mind which had recently entered it. For a short time he sat deep in thought, after Elinor had ceased to speak;—at last, and as if it were rather an effort, he said,

"Colonel Brandon seems a man of great worth and respectability. I have always heard him spoken of as such, and your brother I know esteems him highly. He is undoubtedly a sensible man, and in his manners perfectly the gentleman."

"Indeed," replied Elinor, "I believe that you will find him, on farther acquaintance, all that you have heard him to be, and as you will be such very near neighbours (for I understand the parsonage is almost close to the mansion-house,) it is particularly important that he SHOULD be all this."

Edward made no answer; but when she had turned away her head, gave her a look so serious, so earnest, so uncheerful, as seemed to say, that he might hereafter wish the distance between the parsonage and the mansion-house much greater.

"Colonel Brandon, I think, lodges in St. James Street," said he, soon afterwards, rising from his chair.

Elinor told him the number of the house.

"I must hurry away then, to give him those thanks which you will not allow me to give you; to assure him that he has made me a very—an exceedingly happy man."

Elinor did not offer to detain him; and they parted, with a very earnest assurance on her side of her unceasing good wishes for his happiness in every change of situation that might befall him; on HIS, with rather an attempt to return the same good will, than the power of expressing it.

"When I see him again," said Elinor to herself, as the door shut him out, "I shall see him the husband of Lucy."

And with this pleasing anticipation, she sat down to reconsider the past, recall the words and endeavour to comprehend all the feelings of Edward; and, of course, to reflect on her own with discontent.

When Mrs. Jennings came home, though she returned from seeing people whom she had never seen before, and of whom therefore she must have a great deal to say, her mind was so much more occupied by the important secret in her possession, than by anything else, that she reverted to it again as soon as Elinor appeared.

"Well, my dear," she cried, "I sent you up to the young man. Did not I do right?—And I suppose you had no great difficulty—You did not find him very unwilling to accept your proposal?"

"No, ma'am; THAT was not very likely."

"Well, and how soon will he be ready?—For it seems all to depend upon that."

"Really," said Elinor, "I know so little of these kind of forms, that I can hardly even conjecture as to the time, or the preparation necessary; but I suppose two or three months will complete his ordination."

"Two or three months!" cried Mrs. Jennings; "Lord! my dear, how calmly you talk of it; and can the Colonel wait two or three months! Lord bless me!—I am sure it would put ME quite out of patience!—And though one would be very glad to do a kindness by poor Mr. Ferrars, I do think it is not worth while to wait two or three months for him. Sure somebody else might be found that would do as well; somebody that is in orders already."

"My dear ma'am," said Elinor, "what can you be thinking of?— Why, Colonel Brandon's only object is to be of use to Mr. Ferrars."

"Lord bless you, my dear!—Sure you do not mean to persuade me that the Colonel only marries you for the sake of giving ten guineas to Mr. Ferrars!"

The deception could not continue after this; and an explanation immediately took place, by which both gained considerable amusement for the moment, without any material loss of happiness to either, for Mrs. Jennings only exchanged one form of delight for another, and still without forfeiting her expectation of the first.

"Aye, aye, the parsonage is but a small one," said she, after the first ebullition of surprise and satisfaction was over, "and very likely MAY be out of repair; but to hear a man apologising, as I thought, for a house that to my knowledge has five sitting rooms on the ground-floor, and I think the housekeeper told me could make up fifteen beds!—and to you too, that had been used to live in Barton cottage!— It seems quite ridiculous. But, my dear, we must touch up the Colonel to do some thing to the parsonage, and make it comfortable for them, before Lucy goes to it."

"But Colonel Brandon does not seem to have any idea of the living's being enough to allow them to marry."

"The Colonel is a ninny, my dear; because he has two thousand a-year himself, he thinks that nobody else can marry on less. Take my word for it, that, if I am alive, I shall be paying a visit at Delaford Parsonage before Michaelmas; and I am sure I shan't go if Lucy an't there."

Elinor was quite of her opinion, as to the probability of their not waiting for any thing more.



　　布兰登上校一走，詹宁斯太太便谐地笑笑说：“达什伍德小姐，我也不问你上校在跟你说什么来着。我以名誉担保，虽说我尽量躲到听不见的地方，但我还是听到一些，知道他在谈论什么事儿。老实对你说吧，我生平从来没有这么高兴过，我衷心地祝你快乐。”
　　“谢谢你，太太，”埃丽诺说。“这确实是一件使我感到十分快乐的事情。我切实感到布兰登上校为人善良。能像他那样办事的人实在不多。很少有人像他那样富于同情心！我生平从没这样惊奇过。”
　　“天哪！亲爱的，你过于谦虚啦！我丝毫也不感到惊奇，因为我近来常想，没有什么事情比这更合乎情理啦。”
　　“你这样认为，是因为你知道上校心肠慈善。可你至少预见不到，这机会居然会来得这么快。”
　　“机会！”詹宁斯太太重复道。“啊！说到这点一个男人一旦下定这样的决心，他无论如何总会很快找到机会的。好啦，亲爱的，我再三再四地祝你快乐。要是说世界上真有美满夫妻的话，我想我很快就会知道到哪里去找啦。”
　　“我想，你打算到德拉福去找啦，”埃丽诺淡然一笑地说。
　　“啊，亲爱的，我的确是这个意思。至于说房子不好，我不知道上校用意何在，因为那是我见到的最好的房子。”
　　“他谈到房子失修了。”
　　“唉，那怪谁？他为什么不修理？他自己不修让谁修？”
　　仆人进来打断了她们的谈话，传报马车停在门口。詹宁斯太太马上准备出发，便说：
　　“好啦，亲爱的，我的话还没说完一半就要走啦。不过，我们晚上可以仔细谈谈，因为我们将单独在一起。我就不难为你跟我一起去了，你大概一心想着这件事，不会愿意陪我去的。何况，你还急着告诉你妹妹呢。”
　　原来，她们的谈话还没开始，玛丽安就走出房去了。
　　“当然，太太，我是要告诉玛丽安的。但是，当前我还不想告诉其他任何人。”
　　“啊！好，”詹宁斯太太颇为失望地说道，“那你就不让我告诉露西啦，我今天还想跑到霍尔本呢。”
　　“是的，太太，请你连露西也别告诉。推迟一天不会有多大关系。在我写信给费拉斯先生之前，我想还是不要向任何人提起这件事。这信我马上就写。要紧的是不能耽搁他的时间，因为他要接受圣职，当然有很多事情要办。”
　　这几句话起初使詹宁斯太太大惑不解。为什么，一定要急急忙忙地写信告诉费拉斯先生呢？这真叫她一下子无法理解。不过，沉思片刻之后，地心里不禁乐了起来，便大声嚷道：
　　“哦嗬！我明白你的意思了。费拉斯先生要做主事人。嗯，这对他再好不过了。是的，他当然要准备接受圣职。我真高兴，你们之间已经进展到这一步了。不过，亲爱的，这由你写是否不大得体呀？上校难道不该亲自写信？的确，由他写才合适。”
　　詹宁斯太太这番话的开头两句，埃丽诺听了不太明白。不过，她觉得也不值得追问，于是，她只回答了最后的问题：
　　“布兰登上校是个谨慎的人，他有了什么打算，宁愿让别人代言，也不肯自己直说。”
　　“所以，你就只好代言啦。嘿，这种谨慎还真够古怪的！不过，我不打扰你啦。”（见她准备写信）“你自己的事情你知道得最清楚。再见，亲爱的。自从夏洛特临产以来，我还没有听到使我这么高兴的消息呢。”
　　詹宁斯太太说罢走了出去，可是转眼间又返了回来。
　　“亲爱的，我刚才想起了贝蒂的妹妹。我很愿意给她找一个这么好心的女主人。不过，她是否能做女主人的贴身女侍，我实在说不上来。她是个出色的女佣人，擅长做针线活。不过，这些事情你有闲空的时候再考虑吧。”
　　“当然，太太，”埃丽诺答道。其实，詹宁斯太太说的话，她并没听进多少，一心渴望她快点走，不要把她当作女主人说来说去。
　　现在，她一心考虑的是该加何下笔--她给爱德华的这封信该如何表达。由于他们之间有过特殊的关系，本来别人感到轻而易举的事情，要她来写可就犯难了。不过，她同样害怕自己或则说得过多，或则说得过少，因而只见她手里捏着笔，坐在那里对着信纸出神。恰在这时，爱德华走了进来，打断了她的沉思。
　　原来，詹宁斯太太刚才下楼乘车时，爱德华正好来送告别名片，两人在门口碰见了。詹宁斯太太因为不能回屋，向他表示了歉意，随后又叫他进去，说达什伍德小姐在楼上，正有要紧事要同他说。
　　埃丽诺在迷茫中刚刚感到有点庆幸，觉得写信不管多么难以确切地表达自己，但总比当面告诉来得好办。正当她自我庆幸的时候，她的客人偏偏走了进来，迫使她不得不接受这项最艰巨的任务。爱德华的突然出现使她大吃一惊，十分慌张。爱德华的订婚消息公开以后，他知道她是了解的，从那以来，他们一直没有见过面。鉴于这个情况，再加上埃丽诺自知有些想法，还有事要对他说，因而有好几分钟感到特别不自在。爱德华也感到很痛苦。他们一道坐下，样子显得十分尴尬，爱德华刚进屋时有没有求埃丽诺原谅他贸然闯入，他也记不清了。不过为了保险起见、等他坐定之后，一俟能说出活来，便按照礼仪道了歉。
　　“詹宁斯太太告诉我，”他说，“你想同我谈谈，至少我理解她是这个意思一—不然我肯定不会如此这般地来打扰你。不过，我若是不见一下你和你妹妹就离开伦敦，将会抱憾终生。特别是，我很可能离开不少时候—一大概一时半刻不会再见到你们。我明天要去牛津。”
　　“不过，”埃丽诺恢复了镇静，决定尽快完成这项可怕的差事，于是说道，“你总不会不接受一下我们的良好祝愿就走吧，即使我们未能亲自向你表示祝愿。詹宁斯太太说得一点不错。我有件要紧事要告诉你，我刚才正要写信通知你呢。我受人委托，接受了一项极其愉快的任务。”（说着说着，呼吸变得急促起来。）“布兰登上校十分钟前还在这里，他要我告诉你，他知道你打算去做牧师，很愿意把现在空缺的德拉福牧师职位送给你，只可惜俸禄不高。请允许我祝贺你有一位如此可敬、如此知心的朋友，我和他都希望这份俸禄能比现在的一年大约二百镑高得多，以便使你更有条件——不光是解决你自己的临时膳宿问题一—总而言之，可以完全实现你的幸福愿望。”
　　爱德华的苦衷，他自己是说不出口的，也无法期望别人会替他说出来。听到这条意想不到的消息，他看样子大为震惊。不过他只说了这么几个字：
　　“布兰登上校！”
　　“是的，”因为最难堪的时刻已经有些过去了，埃丽诺进一步鼓起勇气，继续说道，“布兰登上校是想表示一下他对最近发生的事情的关切．—你家人的无理行径把你推进了痛苦的境地一—当然，玛丽安和我，以及你的所有朋友，都和他一样关切。同样，他的行动也表明他对你整个人格的高度尊敬，对你目前所作所为的特别赞许。”
　　“布兰登上校送我一个牧师职位，这可能吗？”
　　“你受尽了家人的亏待，遇到旁人的好意也感到惊奇。”
　　“不，”爱德华恍然省悟过来，回答说，“我得到你的好意就不会感到惊奇。因为我知道，这一切都亏了你，亏了你的一片好心。我从心里感激你——要是做得到的话，我一定向你表示这种感激之情——但是你知道得很清楚，我口齿不伶俐。”
　　“你搞错了。老实对你说吧，这事完全归功于，至少是几乎完全归功于你自己的美德和布兰登上校对你这种美德的赏识。我根本没有插手。我了解了他的意图之后，才知道那个牧师职位空着。我根本没有想到，他还会有个牧师职位可以相赠。他作为我和我一家人的朋友，也许会——我的确知道他十分乐于赠给你。不过，说老实话，你不用感激我，这不是我求情的结果。”
　　为了实事求是，埃丽诺不得不承认自己稍许起了一点作用。但是她不愿意显示自己是爱德华的恩人，因而承认得很不爽快。大概正是由于这个缘故，爱德华进一步加深了他心里最近产生的那个猜疑。埃丽诺说完之后，他坐在那里沉思了一会。最后，他像是费了很大劲儿，终于说道：
　　“布兰登上校似乎是个德高望重的人。我总是听见人们这样议论他，而且我知道，你哥哥非常敬佩他。毫无疑问，他是个聪明人，大有绅士风度。”
　　“的确如此，”埃丽诺答道，“我相信，经过进一步了解你会发现，他和你听说的一模一样，既然你们要成为近邻（我听说牧师公馆就在他的大宅附近），他具有这样的人格也就特别重要。”
　　爱德华没有作声。不过，当埃丽诺扭过头去，他趁机对她望了一眼。他的眼神那样严肃，那样认真，那样忧郁，仿佛在说：他以后或许会希望牧师公馆离大宅远一点。
　　“我想，布兰登上校住在圣詹姆斯街吧？”他随后说道，一面从椅子上立起身。
　　埃丽诺告诉了他门牌号码。
　　“那我要赶快走啦，既然你不让我感谢你，我只好去感谢上校。告诉他，他使我成为一个非常——一个无比幸福的人。”
　　埃丽诺没有阻拦他。他们分手时，埃丽诺诚挚地表示，不管他的处境发生什么变化，永远祝他幸福。爱德华虽说很想表示同样的祝愿，怎奈表达不出来。
　　“我再见到他的时候，”爱德华一走出门去，埃丽诺便自言自语地说道，“他就是露西的丈夫了。”
　　埃丽诺带着这种愉快的期待心情，坐下来重新考虑过去，回想着爱德华说过的话，设法去领会他的全部感情。当然，也考虑一下她自己的委屈。
　　且说詹宁斯太太回到家里，虽然回来前见到了一些过去从未，见过的人，因而本该大谈特谈一番的，但是由于她一心想着她掌握的那件重要秘密，所以一见到埃丽诺，便又重新扯起那件事。
　　“哦，亲爱的，”她嚷道，“我叫那小伙子上来找你的。难道我做得不对？我想你没遇到多大困难。你没发现他很不愿意接受你的建议吧？”
　　“没有，太太。那还不至于。”
　　“嗯，他多久能准备好？看来—切取决于此啦。”
　　“说真的，”埃丽诺说，“我对这些形式一窍不通，说不准要多长时间，要做什么准备。不过，我想有两二个月，就能完成他的授职仪式。
　　“两三个月？”詹宁斯太太嚷道。“天哪！亲爱的，你说得倒轻巧！难道上校能等两三个月！上帝保佑！这真要叫我无法忍耐了。虽然人们很乐意让可怜的费拉斯先生来主事，但是不值得为他等两三个月啊。肯定可以找到别人，一样能办嘛，找个己经有圣职的人。
　　“亲爱的太太，”埃丽诺说，“你想到哪几去了？你听我说，布兰登上校的唯一目的是想帮帮费拉斯先生的忙。”
　　“上帝保佑你，亲爱的，你总不至于想让我相信，上校娶你只是为了要送给费拉斯先生十个几尼的缘故吧！”
　　这样一来，这场假戏再也演不下去了。双方不免要立即解释一番，一时间都对此极感兴趣，并不觉得扫兴，因为詹宁斯太太只不过用一种乐趣取代了另一种乐趣，而旦还没有放弃对前一种乐趣的期待。
　　“当然，牧师公馆房子很小，”第一阵惊喜过后，她说，“很可能年久失修了。不过，我当时以为他在为另一幢房子表示歉意呢。据我了解，那幢房子底层有六间起居室，我想管家对我说过，屋里能安十五张床！而且他还向你表示歉意，因为你住惯了巴顿乡舍！这似乎十分滑稽可笑。不过，亲爱的，我们得撺掇上校赶在露西过门以前，帮助修缮一下牧师公馆，好叫他们住得舒适一些。”
　　“不过布兰登上校似乎认为，牧师俸禄太低，他们无法结婚。”
　　“亲爱的，上校是个傻瓜。他因为自己每年有两干镑的收入，就以为别人钱少了不能结婚。请你相信我的话，只要我还活着，我就要在米迦勒节以前去拜访一下德拉福牧师公馆。当然，要是露西不在那里，我是不会去的。”
　　埃丽诺很同意她的看法：他们很可能什么也不等了。 　
  
回复 引用 新鲜事
顶端
narcis

ZxID：9184039

763474鲜花 75鸡蛋

等级: 派派版主
一二三四五六七~~~
举报 只看该作者 40楼  发表于: 2013-10-29 0
Chapter Thirty-nine

The Miss Dashwoods had now been rather more than two months in town, and Marianne's impatience to be gone increased every day. She sighed for the air, the liberty, the quiet of the country; and fancied that if any place could give her ease, Barton must do it. Elinor was hardly less anxious than herself for their removal, and only so much less bent on its being effected immediately, as that she was conscious of the difficulties of so long a journey, which Marianne could not be brought to acknowledge. She began, however, seriously to turn her thoughts towards its accomplishment, and had already mentioned their wishes to their kind hostess, who resisted them with all the eloquence of her good-will, when a plan was suggested, which, though detaining them from home yet a few weeks longer, appeared to Elinor altogether much more eligible than any other. The Palmers were to remove to Cleveland about the end of March, for the Easter holidays; and Mrs. Jennings, with both her friends, received a very warm invitation from Charlotte to go with them. This would not, in itself, have been sufficient for the delicacy of Miss Dashwood;—but it was inforced with so much real politeness by Mr. Palmer himself, as, joined to the very great amendment of his manners towards them since her sister had been known to be unhappy, induced her to accept it with pleasure.

When she told Marianne what she had done, however, her first reply was not very auspicious.

"Cleveland!"—she cried, with great agitation. "No, I cannot go to Cleveland."—

"You forget," said Elinor gently, "that its situation is not...that it is not in the neighbourhood of..."

"But it is in Somersetshire.—I cannot go into Somersetshire.—There, where I looked forward to going...No, Elinor, you cannot expect me to go there."

Elinor would not argue upon the propriety of overcoming such feelings;—she only endeavoured to counteract them by working on others;—represented it, therefore, as a measure which would fix the time of her returning to that dear mother, whom she so much wished to see, in a more eligible, more comfortable manner, than any other plan could do, and perhaps without any greater delay. From Cleveland, which was within a few miles of Bristol, the distance to Barton was not beyond one day, though a long day's journey; and their mother's servant might easily come there to attend them down; and as there could be no occasion of their staying above a week at Cleveland, they might now be at home in little more than three weeks' time. As Marianne's affection for her mother was sincere, it must triumph with little difficulty, over the imaginary evils she had started.

Mrs. Jennings was so far from being weary of her guest, that she pressed them very earnestly to return with her again from Cleveland. Elinor was grateful for the attention, but it could not alter her design; and their mother's concurrence being readily gained, every thing relative to their return was arranged as far as it could be;—and Marianne found some relief in drawing up a statement of the hours that were yet to divide her from Barton.

"Ah! Colonel, I do not know what you and I shall do without the Miss Dashwoods;"—was Mrs. Jennings's address to him when he first called on her, after their leaving her was settled—"for they are quite resolved upon going home from the Palmers;—and how forlorn we shall be, when I come back!—Lord! we shall sit and gape at one another as dull as two cats."

Perhaps Mrs. Jennings was in hopes, by this vigorous sketch of their future ennui, to provoke him to make that offer, which might give himself an escape from it;—and if so, she had soon afterwards good reason to think her object gained; for, on Elinor's moving to the window to take more expeditiously the dimensions of a print, which she was going to copy for her friend, he followed her to it with a look of particular meaning, and conversed with her there for several minutes. The effect of his discourse on the lady too, could not escape her observation, for though she was too honorable to listen, and had even changed her seat, on purpose that she might not hear, to one close by the piano forte on which Marianne was playing, she could not keep herself from seeing that Elinor changed colour, attended with agitation, and was too intent on what he said to pursue her employment.— Still farther in confirmation of her hopes, in the interval of Marianne's turning from one lesson to another, some words of the Colonel's inevitably reached her ear, in which he seemed to be apologising for the badness of his house. This set the matter beyond a doubt. She wondered, indeed, at his thinking it necessary to do so; but supposed it to be the proper etiquette. What Elinor said in reply she could not distinguish, but judged from the motion of her lips, that she did not think THAT any material objection;—and Mrs. Jennings commended her in her heart for being so honest. They then talked on for a few minutes longer without her catching a syllable, when another lucky stop in Marianne's performance brought her these words in the Colonel's calm voice,—

"I am afraid it cannot take place very soon."

Astonished and shocked at so unlover-like a speech, she was almost ready to cry out, "Lord! what should hinder it?"—but checking her desire, confined herself to this silent ejaculation.

"This is very strange!—sure he need not wait to be older."

This delay on the Colonel's side, however, did not seem to offend or mortify his fair companion in the least, for on their breaking up the conference soon afterwards, and moving different ways, Mrs. Jennings very plainly heard Elinor say, and with a voice which shewed her to feel what she said,

"I shall always think myself very much obliged to you."

Mrs. Jennings was delighted with her gratitude, and only wondered that after hearing such a sentence, the Colonel should be able to take leave of them, as he immediately did, with the utmost sang-froid, and go away without making her any reply!—She had not thought her old friend could have made so indifferent a suitor.

What had really passed between them was to this effect.

"I have heard," said he, with great compassion, "of the injustice your friend Mr. Ferrars has suffered from his family; for if I understand the matter right, he has been entirely cast off by them for persevering in his engagement with a very deserving young woman.— Have I been rightly informed?—Is it so?—"

Elinor told him that it was.

"The cruelty, the impolitic cruelty,"—he replied, with great feeling,—"of dividing, or attempting to divide, two young people long attached to each other, is terrible.— Mrs. Ferrars does not know what she may be doing—what she may drive her son to. I have seen Mr. Ferrars two or three times in Harley Street, and am much pleased with him. He is not a young man with whom one can be intimately acquainted in a short time, but I have seen enough of him to wish him well for his own sake, and as a friend of yours, I wish it still more. I understand that he intends to take orders. Will you be so good as to tell him that the living of Delaford, now just vacant, as I am informed by this day's post, is his, if he think it worth his acceptance—but THAT, perhaps, so unfortunately circumstanced as he is now, it may be nonsense to appear to doubt; I only wish it were more valuable.— It is a rectory, but a small one; the late incumbent, I believe, did not make more than 200 L per annum, and though it is certainly capable of improvement, I fear, not to such an amount as to afford him a very comfortable income. Such as it is, however, my pleasure in presenting him to it, will be very great. Pray assure him of it."

Elinor's astonishment at this commission could hardly have been greater, had the Colonel been really making her an offer of his hand. The preferment, which only two days before she had considered as hopeless for Edward, was already provided to enable him to marry;—and SHE, of all people in the world, was fixed on to bestow it!—Her emotion was such as Mrs. Jennings had attributed to a very different cause;—but whatever minor feelings less pure, less pleasing, might have a share in that emotion, her esteem for the general benevolence, and her gratitude for the particular friendship, which together prompted Colonel Brandon to this act, were strongly felt, and warmly expressed. She thanked him for it with all her heart, spoke of Edward's principles and disposition with that praise which she knew them to deserve; and promised to undertake the commission with pleasure, if it were really his wish to put off so agreeable an office to another. But at the same time, she could not help thinking that no one could so well perform it as himself. It was an office in short, from which, unwilling to give Edward the pain of receiving an obligation from HER, she would have been very glad to be spared herself;— but Colonel Brandon, on motives of equal delicacy, declining it likewise, still seemed so desirous of its being given through her means, that she would not on any account make farther opposition. Edward, she believed, was still in town, and fortunately she had heard his address from Miss Steele. She could undertake therefore to inform him of it, in the course of the day. After this had been settled, Colonel Brandon began to talk of his own advantage in securing so respectable and agreeable a neighbour, and THEN it was that he mentioned with regret, that the house was small and indifferent;—an evil which Elinor, as Mrs. Jennings had supposed her to do, made very light of, at least as far as regarded its size.

"The smallness of the house," said she, "I cannot imagine any inconvenience to them, for it will be in proportion to their family and income."

By which the Colonel was surprised to find that SHE was considering Mr. Ferrars's marriage as the certain consequence of the presentation; for he did not suppose it possible that Delaford living could supply such an income, as anybody in his style of life would venture to settle on—and he said so.

"This little rectory can do no more than make Mr. Ferrars comfortable as a bachelor; it cannot enable him to marry. I am sorry to say that my patronage ends with this; and my interest is hardly more extensive. If, however, by an unforeseen chance it should be in my power to serve him farther, I must think very differently of him from what I now do, if I am not as ready to be useful to him then as I sincerely wish I could be at present. What I am now doing indeed, seems nothing at all, since it can advance him so little towards what must be his principal, his only object of happiness. His marriage must still be a distant good;—at least, I am afraid it cannot take place very soon.—"

Such was the sentence which, when misunderstood, so justly offended the delicate feelings of Mrs. Jennings; but after this narration of what really passed between Colonel Brandon and Elinor, while they stood at the window, the gratitude expressed by the latter on their parting, may perhaps appear in general, not less reasonably excited, nor less properly worded than if it had arisen from an offer of marriage.



　　两位达什伍德小姐如今已在城里呆了两个多月，玛丽安渴望回家的急切心情与日俱增。她眷恋乡下的空气、清闲和静谧，她以为，要是有什么地方使她感到自由自在的话，那就是巴顿。埃丽诺几乎和她一样归心似箭，只是不想马上就走，因为她知道路途遥远，困难重重，而这是玛丽安所无法认可的。不过，她在认真开始考虑回家的问题，己经向和蔼的女主人提起了她们的愿望。女主人好心好意地极力挽留，并且提出了一个解决方案。根据这个方案，她们虽说还要呆上几个星期才能回家，但是埃丽诺似乎觉得它比别的方案更加切实可行。三月底，帕尔默夫妇要到克利夫兰过复活节，詹宁斯太太和她的两位朋友受到夏洛特的热情邀请，要她们一同前往。达什伍德小姐是个性情娴雅的女子，本来并不稀罕这样的邀请。然而自从妹妹遇到不幸以来，帕尔默先生对待她的态度发生了巨大的变化，这次又是他亲自客客气气地提出邀请，她只好愉快地接受了。
　　不过，当她把这件事告诉玛丽安时，玛丽安最初的回答却并不痛快。
　　“克利夫兰！”她大为激动地嚷道。“不，我不能去克利夫兰。”
　　“你忘了，”埃丽诺心平气和地说，“克利夫兰不在……不靠近……”
　　“但它在萨默塞特郡。我不能去萨默塞特郡。我曾经盼望过到那里去……不，埃丽诺，你现在不要指望我会去那里。”
　　埃丽诺并不想劝说妹妹克制这种感情。她只想通过激起她的别的感情，来抵消这种感情。因此，她告诉妹妹：她不是很想见到亲爱的母亲吗，其实去克利夫兰是个再好不过的安排，可以使她们以最切实可行、最舒适的方式，回到母亲身边，确定一个日期也许不需要拖得很久了。克利夫兰距离布里斯托尔只有几英里远，从那里去巴顿不过一天的旅程，当然那是整整一天的路程，母亲的仆人可以很方便地去那里把她们接回家。因为她们不必要在克利夫兰呆到一个星期以上，所以她们再过三个星期就回到家了，玛丽安对母亲的感情是真挚的，这就便她很容易地消除了最初设想的可怕念头。
　　詹宁斯太太对于她的客人没有丝毫厌烦之感，非常诚恳地劝说她们和她一起从克利夫兰回到城里。埃丽诺感谢她的好意，但是不想改变她们的计划。这计划得到了母亲的欣然同意，她们回家的一切事宜都已尽可能地做好了安排。玛丽安觉得，为回巴顿前的这段时间记个流水帐，心里也可得到几分欣慰。
　　达什伍德家小姐确定要走之后，布兰登上校第一次来访时，詹宁斯太太便对他说：“唉！上校，我真不知道，两位达什伍德小姐走后，我们俩该怎么办。她们非要从帕尔默夫妇那里回家不可。我回来以后，我们将感到多么孤寂啊！天哪，我们俩对坐在那里，你盯着我，我望着你，像两只猫儿一样无聊。”
　　詹宁斯太太如此危言耸听地说起将来的无聊，也许是挑逗上校提出求婚，以使他自己摆脱这种无聊的生活——如果是这样的话，她马上就有充分的理由相信，她的目的达到了。原来，埃丽诺正要替她的朋友临摹一幅画，为了尽快量好尺寸，她移身到窗前，这时上校也带着一种特别的神气跟到窗前，同她在那儿交谈了几分钟。这次谈话对那位小姐产生的作用，逃不过詹宁斯太太的目光。她虽说是个体面人，不愿偷听别人说话、甚至为了有意使自己听不见，还把位子挪到玛丽安正在弹奏的钢琴跟前。但是，她情不自禁地发现，埃丽诺脸色变了，同时显得很激动，只顾得听上校说话，手上的活儿也停了下来。而更能印证她的希望的是，在玛丽安从一支曲子转到另一支曲子的间歇时刻，上校有些话不可避免地传到了她的耳朵里，听起来，他像是在为自己的房子不好表示歉意。这就使事情毋庸质疑了。她确实感到奇怪，他为什么要这样做。不过，她猜想这或许是正常的礼节。埃丽诺回答了些什么，她听不清楚，但是从她嘴唇的蠕动可以断定，她认为那没有多大关系。詹宁斯太太打心里称赞她如此诚实。随后他们俩又谈了几分钟，可惜她一个字也没听见。恰在这时，玛丽安的琴声碰巧又停住了，只听上校带着平静的语气说道：
　　“我恐怕这事一时办不成。”
　　詹宁斯太太一听他说出这种不像情人样子的话语，不禁大为诊惊。差一点嚷出声来：“天啊！还有什么办不成的！”—一不过她忍耐住了，只是悄声说道：
　　“这倒真怪！他总不至于等到再老下去吧。”
　　然而，上校提出的延期似乎一点不使他那位漂亮的朋友感到生气或恼怒；因为他们不久就结束了谈话，两人分手的时候，詹宁斯太太清清楚楚地听见埃丽诺带着真挚的语气说道：
　　“我将永远对你感激不尽。”，
　　詹宁斯太太听她表示感谢，不由得喜上心头，只是有些奇怪：上校听到这样一句话之后，居然还能安之若素地立即告辞而去，也不答复她一声：她没有想到，她的这位老朋友求起婚来会这么漫不经心。
　　其实，他们之间谈论的是这么回事：
　　“我听说，”上校满怀同情地说，“你的朋友费拉斯先生受到家庭的亏待。我若是理解得不错的话，他因为坚持不肯放弃同一位非常可爱的年轻小姐的婚约，而被家人完全抛弃了。我没有听错吧？情况是这样吗？”
　　埃丽诺告诉他，情况是这样。
　　“把两个长期相爱的年轻人拆开，”上校深为同情地说道，“或者企图把他们拆开，这太残酷无情，太蛮横无礼了。费拉斯太太不知道她会造成什么后果——她会把她儿子逼到何种地步。我在哈利街见过费拉斯先生两三回，对他非常喜欢。他不是一个你在短期内就能与他相熟的年轻人，不过我总算见过他几面，祝他幸运。况且，作为你的朋友，我更要祝愿他。我听说他打算去做牧师。劳驾你告诉他，我从今天的来信里得知，德拉福的牧师职位目前正空着，他若是愿意接受的话，可以给他。不过，他目前处于加此不幸的境地，再去怀疑他是否愿意，也许是无稽之谈。我只是希望钱能再多一些。拿的是教区长的俸禄，但是钱很少。我想，已故牧师每年不过能挣二百镑，虽说肯定还会增加，不过怕是达不到足以使他过上舒适日子的程度。尽管加此，我还是万分高兴地推举他接任此职。请你让他放心。”
　　埃丽诺听到这一委托，不禁大为吃惊，即使上校真的向她求婚，她也不会感到比这更为惊讶。仅仅两天前，她还认为爱德华没有希望得到推举，现在居然有门了，他可以结婚啦。而天下人很多，偏偏又要让她去奉告！她产生这样的感情，不料被詹宁斯太太归之于一个截然不同的原因。然而，尽管她的感情里夹杂着一些不很纯洁、不很愉快的次要因素，但是她钦佩布兰登上校对任何人都很慈善，感谢他对她自己的特别友谊。正是这两方面的因素，促使他采取了这一行动。她不仅心里这样想，嘴里还做了热情的表示。她诚心诚意地向他道谢，而且带着她认为爱德华受之无愧的赞美口吻，谈起了他的为人准则和性情。她还答应，假如他的确希望有人转告这样一件美差的话，那她很乐意担当此任。尽管如此，她仍然不得不认为，还是上校自己去说最为妥当。简单地说，她不想让爱德华痛苦地感到他受到她的恩惠，因此她宁愿推掉这个差事。不想布兰登上校也是基于同样微妙的动机才不肯亲自去说的。他似乎仍然希望埃丽诺去转告，请她无论如何不要再推辞了。埃丽诺相信爱德华还在城里，而且幸运的是，她从斯蒂尔小姐那儿打听到了他的地址。因此，她可以保证在当天就告诉他。此事谈妥之后，布兰登上校说起他有这么—位体面谦和的邻居，定将受益不浅。接着，他遗憾地提到，那幢房子比较小，质量也差。对于这一缺陷，埃丽诺就像詹宁斯太太猜想的那样，一点也不在乎，至少对房子的大小是这样。
　　“房子小，”她说，“我想不会给他们带来任何不便，因为这同他们的家口和收入正好相称。”
　　一听这话，上校吃了一惊。他发现，埃丽诺已经把他们的结婚看成是这次推举的必然结果。在上校看来，德拉福的牧师俸禄收入有限，凡是习惯了爱德华那种生活方式的人，谁也不敢靠着这点收入就能成家立业——于是，他照实对埃丽诺说了。
　　“这点牧师俸禄只能使费拉斯先生过上比较舒适的单身汉生活，不能保证他们可以结婚。说来遗憾，我只能帮到这一步，我对他的关心也只能到此为止。不过，万一将来我有能力进一步帮忙，那时我一定像现在真诚希望的一样尽心尽力，只要我没有彻底改变我现在对他的看法。我现在的所作所为的确毫无价值，因为这很难促使他获得他主要的也是唯一的幸福目标。他的婚事们然是一场遥遥无期的美梦。至少，我恐伯这事一时办不成。”
　　正是这句话，因为被多愁善感的詹宁斯太太误解了，理所当然地要引起她的烦恼。不过，我们如实地叙述了布兰登上校和埃丽诺站在窗自进行的一席谈话之后，埃丽诺在分手表示谢意时，总的来说，那副激动不已、言辞恳切的神情，也许不亚于接受求婚的样子。 　
  
回复 引用 新鲜事
顶端
narcis

ZxID：9184039

763474鲜花 75鸡蛋

等级: 派派版主
一二三四五六七~~~
举报 只看该作者 39楼  发表于: 2013-10-29 0
Chapter Thirty-eight

Mrs. Jennings was very warm in her praise of Edward's conduct, but only Elinor and Marianne understood its true merit. THEY only knew how little he had had to tempt him to be disobedient, and how small was the consolation, beyond the consciousness of doing right, that could remain to him in the loss of friends and fortune. Elinor gloried in his integrity; and Marianne forgave all his offences in compassion for his punishment. But though confidence between them was, by this public discovery, restored to its proper state, it was not a subject on which either of them were fond of dwelling when alone. Elinor avoided it upon principle, as tending to fix still more upon her thoughts, by the too warm, too positive assurances of Marianne, that belief of Edward's continued affection for herself which she rather wished to do away; and Marianne's courage soon failed her, in trying to converse upon a topic which always left her more dissatisfied with herself than ever, by the comparison it necessarily produced between Elinor's conduct and her own.

She felt all the force of that comparison; but not as her sister had hoped, to urge her to exertion now; she felt it with all the pain of continual self-reproach, regretted most bitterly that she had never exerted herself before; but it brought only the torture of penitence, without the hope of amendment. Her mind was so much weakened that she still fancied present exertion impossible, and therefore it only dispirited her more.

Nothing new was heard by them, for a day or two afterwards, of affairs in Harley Street, or Bartlett's Buildings. But though so much of the matter was known to them already, that Mrs. Jennings might have had enough to do in spreading that knowledge farther, without seeking after more, she had resolved from the first to pay a visit of comfort and inquiry to her cousins as soon as she could; and nothing but the hindrance of more visitors than usual, had prevented her going to them within that time.

The third day succeeding their knowledge of the particulars, was so fine, so beautiful a Sunday as to draw many to Kensington Gardens, though it was only the second week in March. Mrs. Jennings and Elinor were of the number; but Marianne, who knew that the Willoughbys were again in town, and had a constant dread of meeting them, chose rather to stay at home, than venture into so public a place.

An intimate acquaintance of Mrs. Jennings joined them soon after they entered the Gardens, and Elinor was not sorry that by her continuing with them, and engaging all Mrs. Jennings's conversation, she was herself left to quiet reflection. She saw nothing of the Willoughbys, nothing of Edward, and for some time nothing of anybody who could by any chance whether grave or gay, be interesting to her. But at last she found herself with some surprise, accosted by Miss Steele, who, though looking rather shy, expressed great satisfaction in meeting them, and on receiving encouragement from the particular kindness of Mrs. Jennings, left her own party for a short time, to join their's. Mrs. Jennings immediately whispered to Elinor,

"Get it all out of her, my dear. She will tell you any thing if you ask. You see I cannot leave Mrs. Clarke."

It was lucky, however, for Mrs. Jennings's curiosity and Elinor's too, that she would tell any thing WITHOUT being asked; for nothing would otherwise have been learnt.

"I am so glad to meet you;" said Miss Steele, taking her familiarly by the arm—"for I wanted to see you of all things in the world." And then lowering her voice, "I suppose Mrs. Jennings has heard all about it. Is she angry?"

"Not at all, I believe, with you."

"That is a good thing. And Lady Middleton, is SHE angry?"

"I cannot suppose it possible that she should."

"I am monstrous glad of it. Good gracious! I have had such a time of it! I never saw Lucy in such a rage in my life. She vowed at first she would never trim me up a new bonnet, nor do any thing else for me again, so long as she lived; but now she is quite come to, and we are as good friends as ever. Look, she made me this bow to my hat, and put in the feather last night. There now, YOU are going to laugh at me too. But why should not I wear pink ribbons? I do not care if it IS the Doctor's favourite colour. I am sure, for my part, I should never have known he DID like it better than any other colour, if he had not happened to say so. My cousins have been so plaguing me! I declare sometimes I do not know which way to look before them."

She had wandered away to a subject on which Elinor had nothing to say, and therefore soon judged it expedient to find her way back again to the first.

"Well, but Miss Dashwood," speaking triumphantly, "people may say what they chuse about Mr. Ferrars's declaring he would not have Lucy, for it is no such thing I can tell you; and it is quite a shame for such ill-natured reports to be spread abroad. Whatever Lucy might think about it herself, you know, it was no business of other people to set it down for certain."

"I never heard any thing of the kind hinted at before, I assure you," said Elinor.

"Oh, did not you? But it WAS said, I know, very well, and by more than one; for Miss Godby told Miss Sparks, that nobody in their senses could expect Mr. Ferrars to give up a woman like Miss Morton, with thirty thousand pounds to her fortune, for Lucy Steele that had nothing at all; and I had it from Miss Sparks myself. And besides that, my cousin Richard said himself, that when it came to the point he was afraid Mr. Ferrars would be off; and when Edward did not come near us for three days, I could not tell what to think myself; and I believe in my heart Lucy gave it up all for lost; for we came away from your brother's Wednesday, and we saw nothing of him not all Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, and did not know what was become of him. Once Lucy thought to write to him, but then her spirits rose against that. However this morning he came just as we came home from church; and then it all came out, how he had been sent for Wednesday to Harley Street, and been talked to by his mother and all of them, and how he had declared before them all that he loved nobody but Lucy, and nobody but Lucy would he have. And how he had been so worried by what passed, that as soon as he had went away from his mother's house, he had got upon his horse, and rid into the country, some where or other; and how he had stayed about at an inn all Thursday and Friday, on purpose to get the better of it. And after thinking it all over and over again, he said, it seemed to him as if, now he had no fortune, and no nothing at all, it would be quite unkind to keep her on to the engagement, because it must be for her loss, for he had nothing but two thousand pounds, and no hope of any thing else; and if he was to go into orders, as he had some thoughts, he could get nothing but a curacy, and how was they to live upon that?—He could not bear to think of her doing no better, and so he begged, if she had the least mind for it, to put an end to the matter directly, and leave him shift for himself. I heard him say all this as plain as could possibly be. And it was entirely for HER sake, and upon HER account, that he said a word about being off, and not upon his own. I will take my oath he never dropt a syllable of being tired of her, or of wishing to marry Miss Morton, or any thing like it. But, to be sure, Lucy would not give ear to such kind of talking; so she told him directly (with a great deal about sweet and love, you know, and all that—Oh, la! one can't repeat such kind of things you know)—she told him directly, she had not the least mind in the world to be off, for she could live with him upon a trifle, and how little so ever he might have, she should be very glad to have it all, you know, or something of the kind. So then he was monstrous happy, and talked on some time about what they should do, and they agreed he should take orders directly, and they must wait to be married till he got a living. And just then I could not hear any more, for my cousin called from below to tell me Mrs. Richardson was come in her coach, and would take one of us to Kensington Gardens; so I was forced to go into the room and interrupt them, to ask Lucy if she would like to go, but she did not care to leave Edward; so I just run up stairs and put on a pair of silk stockings and came off with the Richardsons."

"I do not understand what you mean by interrupting them," said Elinor; "you were all in the same room together, were not you?"

"No, indeed, not us. La! Miss Dashwood, do you think people make love when any body else is by? Oh, for shame!—To be sure you must know better than that. (Laughing affectedly.)—No, no; they were shut up in the drawing-room together, and all I heard was only by listening at the door."

"How!" cried Elinor; "have you been repeating to me what you only learnt yourself by listening at the door? I am sorry I did not know it before; for I certainly would not have suffered you to give me particulars of a conversation which you ought not to have known yourself. How could you behave so unfairly by your sister?"

"Oh, la! there is nothing in THAT. I only stood at the door, and heard what I could. And I am sure Lucy would have done just the same by me; for a year or two back, when Martha Sharpe and I had so many secrets together, she never made any bones of hiding in a closet, or behind a chimney-board, on purpose to hear what we said."

Elinor tried to talk of something else; but Miss Steele could not be kept beyond a couple of minutes, from what was uppermost in her mind.

"Edward talks of going to Oxford soon," said she; "but now he is lodging at No. —, Pall Mall. What an ill-natured woman his mother is, an't she? And your brother and sister were not very kind! However, I shan't say anything against them to YOU; and to be sure they did send us home in their own chariot, which was more than I looked for. And for my part, I was all in a fright for fear your sister should ask us for the huswifes she had gave us a day or two before; but, however, nothing was said about them, and I took care to keep mine out of sight. Edward have got some business at Oxford, he says; so he must go there for a time; and after THAT, as soon as he can light upon a Bishop, he will be ordained. I wonder what curacy he will get!—Good gracious! (giggling as she spoke) I'd lay my life I know what my cousins will say, when they hear of it. They will tell me I should write to the Doctor, to get Edward the curacy of his new living. I know they will; but I am sure I would not do such a thing for all the world.— 'La!' I shall say directly, 'I wonder how you could think of such a thing? I write to the Doctor, indeed!'"

"Well," said Elinor, "it is a comfort to be prepared against the worst. You have got your answer ready."

Miss Steele was going to reply on the same subject, but the approach of her own party made another more necessary.

"Oh, la! here come the Richardsons. I had a vast deal more to say to you, but I must not stay away from them not any longer. I assure you they are very genteel people. He makes a monstrous deal of money, and they keep their own coach. I have not time to speak to Mrs. Jennings about it myself, but pray tell her I am quite happy to hear she is not in anger against us, and Lady Middleton the same; and if anything should happen to take you and your sister away, and Mrs. Jennings should want company, I am sure we should be very glad to come and stay with her for as long a time as she likes. I suppose Lady Middleton won't ask us any more this bout. Good-by; I am sorry Miss Marianne was not here. Remember me kindly to her. La! if you have not got your spotted muslin on!—I wonder you was not afraid of its being torn."

Such was her parting concern; for after this, she had time only to pay her farewell compliments to Mrs. Jennings, before her company was claimed by Mrs. Richardson; and Elinor was left in possession of knowledge which might feed her powers of reflection some time, though she had learnt very little more than what had been already foreseen and foreplanned in her own mind. Edward's marriage with Lucy was as firmly determined on, and the time of its taking place remained as absolutely uncertain, as she had concluded it would be;—every thing depended, exactly after her expectation, on his getting that preferment, of which, at present, there seemed not the smallest chance.

As soon as they returned to the carriage, Mrs. Jennings was eager for information; but as Elinor wished to spread as little as possible intelligence that had in the first place been so unfairly obtained, she confined herself to the brief repetition of such simple particulars, as she felt assured that Lucy, for the sake of her own consequence, would choose to have known. The continuance of their engagement, and the means that were able to be taken for promoting its end, was all her communication; and this produced from Mrs. Jennings the following natural remark.

"Wait for his having a living!—ay, we all know how THAT will end:—they will wait a twelvemonth, and finding no good comes of it, will set down upon a curacy of fifty pounds a-year, with the interest of his two thousand pounds, and what little matter Mr. Steele and Mr. Pratt can give her.—Then they will have a child every year! and Lord help 'em! how poor they will be!—I must see what I can give them towards furnishing their house. Two maids and two men, indeed!—as I talked of t'other day.—No, no, they must get a stout girl of all works.— Betty's sister would never do for them NOW."

The next morning brought Elinor a letter by the two-penny post from Lucy herself. It was as follows:

"Bartlett's Building, March.
"I hope my dear Miss Dashwood will excuse the liberty I take of writing to her; but I know your friendship for me will make you pleased to hear such a good account of myself and my dear Edward, after all the troubles we have went through lately, therefore will make no more apologies, but proceed to say that, thank God! though we have suffered dreadfully, we are both quite well now, and as happy as we must always be in one another's love. We have had great trials, and great persecutions, but however, at the same time, gratefully acknowledge many friends, yourself not the least among them, whose great kindness I shall always thankfully remember, as will Edward too, who I have told of it. I am sure you will be glad to hear, as likewise dear Mrs. Jennings, I spent two happy hours with him yesterday afternoon, he would not hear of our parting, though earnestly did I, as I thought my duty required, urge him to it for prudence sake, and would have parted for ever on the spot, would he consent to it; but he said it should never be, he did not regard his mother's anger, while he could have my affections; our prospects are not very bright, to be sure, but we must wait, and hope for the best; he will be ordained shortly; and should it ever be in your power to recommend him to any body that has a living to bestow, am very sure you will not forget us, and dear Mrs. Jennings too, trust she will speak a good word for us to Sir John, or Mr. Palmer, or any friend that may be able to assist us.—Poor Anne was much to blame for what she did, but she did it for the best, so I say nothing; hope Mrs. Jennings won't think it too much trouble to give us a call, should she come this way any morning, 'twould be a great kindness, and my cousins would be proud to know her.—My paper reminds me to conclude; and begging to be most gratefully and respectfully remembered to her, and to Sir John, and Lady Middleton, and the dear children, when you chance to see them, and love to Miss Marianne,

"I am, Lucy."       

As soon as Elinor had finished it, she performed what she concluded to be its writer's real design, by placing it in the hands of Mrs. Jennings, who read it aloud with many comments of satisfaction and praise.

"Very well indeed!—how prettily she writes!—aye, that was quite proper to let him be off if he would. That was just like Lucy.—Poor soul! I wish I COULD get him a living, with all my heart.—She calls me dear Mrs. Jennings, you see. She is a good-hearted girl as ever lived.—Very well upon my word. That sentence is very prettily turned. Yes, yes, I will go and see her, sure enough. How attentive she is, to think of every body!—Thank you, my dear, for shewing it me. It is as pretty a letter as ever I saw, and does Lucy's head and heart great credit."



　　詹宁斯太太对爱德华的行为大加赞扬，然而只有埃丽诺和玛丽安懂得这种行为的真正价值。只有她们知道，爱德华实在没有什么东西可以诱使他违抗母命，到头来失去了朋友，丢掉了财产，除了觉得自己做得对之外，别无其他安慰。埃丽诺为他的刚直不阿感到自豪；玛丽安因他受到了惩罚而怜悯他，宽恕了他的过失。不过，这件事情公开之后，姐妹俩虽说又成了知己，但她们单独在一起时，谁也不愿细谈这件事。埃丽诺原则上尽量避而不谈，因为玛丽安说话太偏激，太武断，总认为爱德华仍然钟情于她。埃丽诺本来希望她打消这个念头，可是玛丽安越说她考虑得越多。不久，玛丽安也失去了勇气，她抓住一个话题力争谈下去，但是拿埃丽诺的行为和她自己的一比较，总是对自己越来越不满意。
　　她感到了这种比较的效力，但是并非像姐姐希望的那样，促使她克制自己。她感到不断自责的百般痛苦，懊恼自己以前从没克制过自己。然而，这仅仅带来懊恼的痛苦，并没带来改过自新的希望。她的意志变得加此脆弱，以致仍然认为现在克制自己是不可能的，因此只落得越发沮丧。
　　尔后一两天，她们没听说哈利街和巴特利特大楼有什么新的动态。不过，虽说大家己经掌握了不少情况，詹宁斯太太不用进一步了解也足够传播一阵子了，但她从一开始就决定尽早去看看她的表侄女，安慰安慰她们，同时问问情况。不巧，这两天客人比往常都多，使她脱不了身。
　　她们获悉详情后的第三天，是个晴朗明丽的星期日，虽然才到三月份的第二周，却为肯辛顿花园招来了许多游客。詹宁斯太太和埃丽诺也夹在其中。但是玛丽安知道威洛比夫妇又来到城里，一直都怕碰见他们，因而宁肯呆在家里，也不愿进这种公共场所。
　　走进花园不久，詹宁斯太太的一位好友也加进来凑热闹，对此，埃丽诺并不感到遗憾，因为有她和她们呆在一起，不停地同詹宁斯太太交谈，她自己倒可以清静地想想心事。她没见到威洛比夫妇，也没见到爱德华，而且有一阵连个凑巧使她感兴趣的人都见不到。无论愉快的还是不愉快的机遇都没有。可是最后，她无意中发现斯蒂尔小姐来到她跟前，带着颇为缅腆的神气，表示见到她们十分高兴。经詹宁斯太太盛情邀请，她暂时离开她的同伙，来到她们之间。詹宁斯太太当即对埃丽诺低声说道：
　　“亲爱的，让她通通说出来。你只要一问，她什么都会告诉你。你看，我不能离开克拉克太太。”
　　幸好，詹宁斯太太和埃丽诺的好奇并非徒然，斯蒂尔小姐根本不用问，什么话都愿意说。不然的话，她们从别人嘴里是听不到这些话的。
　　“我很高兴见到你，”斯蒂尔小姐说，而亲呢地抓住埃丽诺的手臂，“因为我最要紧的就是想见到你。”接着放低声音说，
　　“我想詹宁斯太太都听说了。她生气了吧？”
　　“我想她一点也不生你的气。”
　　“这就好。米德尔顿夫人呢，她生气了吧：”
　　“我认为她不可能生气。”
　　“我太高兴啦。天哪：我心里是什么滋味啊！我从没见过露西这样勃然大怒。她一开始就发誓，她一生一世也不给我装饰一顶新帽子，也不再给我做任何别的事情。不过她现在已经完全恢复了正常，我们又依然如故地成了好朋友。瞧，她为我的帽子打了这个蝴蝶结，昨天晚上还给装饰了羽毛。好啦，你也要嘲笑我了。不过，我为什么就不能扎粉红丝带？我倒不在乎这是不是博士最喜爱的颜色。当然，他若没有亲口说过，我决不会知道他最喜欢这个颜色。我的表妹们真叫我烦恼。我有时候就说，我在她们面前眼睛都不知道往哪里看。”
　　她说着说着扯到了令一个话题上，埃丽诺对此无话可说，因而她觉得最好还是回到第一个话题上。
　　“不过，达什伍德小姐，”斯蒂尔小姐洋洋得意地说，“人们说费拉斯太太曾当众宣布爱德华不要露西了，他们爱怎么说就怎么说，不过说实在的，没有那回事。到处散布这种流言蜚语，真厚颜无耻。不管露西自己怎么看，别人没有权利信以为真。”
　　“说真话，我以前从没听人流露过这种意思，”埃丽诺说。
　　“噢！真的吗？但是我很清楚，确实有人说过，而且不止一个人。戈德比小姐就对斯帕克斯小姐说过：凡是有点理智的人，谁也不会认为费拉斯先生肯放弃像莫顿小姐这样一位有三万镑财产的女子，而去娶—个一无所有的露西．斯蒂尔。这话我是听斯帕克斯小姐亲口说的。况且，我表兄理查德还亲自说过，到了节骨眼上，他担心费拉斯先生会变卦。爱德华有三天没接近我们了，我也说不出自己该怎么想。我从心底里相信，露西己经认定没有希望了，因为我们星期三离开你哥哥家，星期四、五、六整整三天都没见到他，也不知道爱德华怎么样啦。露西一度想给他写信，随即又打消了这个念头。不过，我们今天上午刚从教堂回到家，他就来了，于是事情全搞清楚了。原来，他星期三被叫到哈利街，他母亲一伙找他谈话，他当着她们大家公开宣布：他是非露西不爱，非露西不娶。他被这些事情搞得心烦意乱，一跨出他母亲的门槛便骑上马，跑到了乡下什么地方。星期四、五两天，他呆在一家客栈里，以便消消气。经过再三考虑，他说他现在没有财产，没有一切，再和露西继续保持婚约，似乎太不人道，那要让她跟着受苦了，因为他只有两千镑，没有希望得到别的收入。他想过，去做牧师，即使这祥，也只能捞个副牧师的职位，他们怎么能靠此维持生活呢？一想到露西不能生活得更好些，他就难以忍受，因此他恳求说：露西只要愿意，可以马上终止婚约，让他去独自谋生。这一切我听他说得清清楚楚。他提到解除婚约的事，那完全是看在露西的份上，完全是为露西好，而不是为他自己。我愿发誓，他从没说过厌烦露西，没说过想娶莫顿小姐，诸如此类的话他一句也没说过。不过，露西当然不愿听他那样说，因此她马上对他说（你知道，又把那表示柔情蜜意的话说了一大堆——天哪，这种话你知道是没法重复的）——她马上对他说，她绝对不想解除婚约，只要有点微薄的收入，她就能和他生活下去。不管他只有多么少的一点点钱，她愿意全部掌管起来，反正就是这一类话。这一来，爱德华高兴极了，谈论了一会儿他们该怎么办，最后商定：爱德华应该马上去做牧师，等他得到一份牧师俸禄的时候，他们再结婚。恰在这时，我再也听不见了，因为我表兄在楼下叫我，说是“我不懂你说的‘打断他们’是什么意思，”埃丽诺说，“你们不是一起呆在一个房间里吗？”
　　“当然不！我“怎么！”埃丽诺嚷道，“你说来说去，原来只是在门口听到的？很遗憾，我事先不知道，不然我不会让你来细说这次谈话内容的，因为你自己都是不该知道的嘛。你怎么能对妹妹采取如此不正当的行为？”
　　“啊呀!那没什么。我不过站在门口，能听多少就听多少。我相信，要是换成露西，她准会采取同样的办法对待我。在过去一两年里，我和玛莎．夏普经常有许多私房话要说，她总是毫不顾忌地藏在壁橱里、壁炉板后面，偷听我们说话。”
　　埃丽诺试图谈点别的，但是斯蒂尔小姐一心想着这件事，让她抛开两三分钟都不可能。
　　“爱德华说他不久要去牛津，”她说，“不过他现在寄住在帕尔美尔街一号。他母亲真是个性情乖戾的女人，对吧？你兄嫂也不大厚道：不过，我不能当着你的面说他们的坏话；当然，他们打发自己的马车把我们送回家，这是我没料到的。我当时吓得要命，就怕你嫂嫂向我们要还她头两天送给我们的计肃盒。不过，她没说起这件事，我小心翼翼地把我的针肃盒藏了起来。爱德华说他在牛津有点事，要去一段时间。在那之后，一碰到那位主教，就接受圣职，我真不知道他会得到什么样的圣职！天哪！（边说边吃吃发笑，）我敢以性命打赌，我知道我的表妹们听到后会说什么。她们会对我说，我该给博士写封信，叫他在他新近工作的教区给爱德华找个牧师职位。我知道她们会这么说，不过我当然决不会干这种事。‘哎呀！’我马上会说，‘我不知道你们怎么会想到这种多。当真让我给博士写信！’”
　　“好啊，”埃丽诺说，“有备无患嘛，你把答话都准备好了。”
　　斯蒂尔小姐刚要回答，不想她的同伙们来了，她只好换个话题。
　　“啊呀！理查森夫妇来了，我本来还有许多话要对你说，可是又不能离开他们太久了。老实跟你说吧，他们是很有体面的人。那男的挣好多好多的钱，他们有自己的马车。我没有时间亲自和詹宁斯太太谈谈这件事，不过请你转告她，听说她不生我们的气，还有米德尔顿夫人也是如此，我感到非常高兴。万一你和你妹妹有事要走，我们一定愿意来同她作伴，她要我们呆多久，我们就呆多久。我想，米德尔顿夫人这次不会再叫我们去了。再见。很遗憾，玛丽安小姐不在这里。请代我向她问好。啊呀！你不该穿上这件花斑细洋纱衣服。真奇怪，你也不怕给撕破了。”
　　这就是她临别时所表示的担心。说完这话，她刚刚向詹宁斯太太最后恭维了几句，便被理查森夫人叫走了。埃丽诺从她那儿了解到一些情况，虽说都是她早已预想得到的，倒可以促使她再冥思暇想一阵子。同她推断的情况一样，爱德华要同露西结婚，这是确定无疑的，至于何时举行婚礼，却不能确定。正如她所料，一切取决于他获得那个牧师职位，但这在当前是没有丝毫指望的。
　　她们一回到马车里，詹宁斯太太就迫不及待地打听消息。但是埃丽诺觉得那些消息起先是通过不正当途径窃取的，还是尽量少传播为好，因而她只是敷衍了事地重复了几个简单的情况。她确信，露西为了抬高自己的身价，也愿意让人知道这些情况。他们还继续保持着婚约，以及采取什么办法来达到目的，这是她叙说的全部内容。詹宁斯太太听了之后，自然而然地发出了以下的议论：
　　“等他得到一份牧师俸禄！哎，我们都知道那会是个什么结局。他们等上一年，发现一无所获，到头来只好依赖一年五十镑的牧师俸禄，还有那两千镑所得到的利息，以及斯蒂尔先生和普赖特先生的一点点布施。而且，他们每年要生一个孩子！老天保佑！他们将穷到什么地步！我要看看能送她们点什么，帮他们布置布置家庭。我那天说过，他们当真还能雇用两个女仆、两个男仆！不，不，他们必须雇佣一个身强力壮的站娘，什么活儿都能干。贝蒂的妹妹现在绝对不合适。”
　　第二天上午，邮局给埃丽诺送来一封信，是露西写来的。内容如下：
　　三月写于巴特利特大楼
　　希望亲爱的达什伍德小姐原谅我冒昧地给你写来这封信。不过我知道你对我非常友好，在我们最近遭到这些不幸之时，你一定很愿意听我好好讲讲我自己和我亲爱的爱德华。因此，我不想过多地表示歉意，而倒想这样说：谢天谢地！我们虽然吃尽了苦头，但是现在却都很好，我们相亲相爱，永远都是那样幸福。我们忍受了巨大的磨难和巨大的迫害，但是在这同时，我们又非常感激许多朋友们，其中特别是你。我将永远铭记你的深情厚谊，我还转告了爱德华，他也仍对你铭感终身。我相信，你和亲爱的詹宁斯太太听到下面的情况一定会很高兴：昨天下午，我和他幸福地在一起度过了两个小时。我觉得自已有义务劝说他，便敦促他为了谨慎起见，还是与我断绝关系，假使他同意的话，我愿意当即同他分手。尽管我说得语重心长，可他怎么也不同意。他说我们决不分离，只要我爱他，他就不在乎他母亲发不发火。当然，我们的前景不很光明，但是我们必须等待，要从最好的方面着想。他不久就想去当牧师，你若是有门路的话，能把他举荐给什么人，赐给他个牧师的职位，我知道你准忘不了我们。还有亲爱的詹宁斯太太，我相信她会向约翰爵士、帕尔默先生等一伙能够帮忙的朋友美言我们几句。可怜的安妮不该说那些话，不过她是出于一片好心，所以我也就不再赘述。希望詹宁斯太太哪天上午路过此地时，光临寒舍。这将是莫大的盛情厚谊，我表姐妹仍会很荣幸地结识她。信纸不够了，提醒我就此搁笔。你若有机会见到詹宁斯太太、约翰爵士、米德尔顿夫人以及那些可爱的孩子，请代我向他们问好，向他们转告我的谢忱和敬意，代问玛丽安小姐好。
　　
你的露西        

　　埃丽诺一看完信，就遵照她推想的写信人的真实意图，把信交给了詹宁斯太太。詹宁斯太太一边朗读，一边洋洋得意地赞不绝口。
　　“真是好极了：她写得多动人啊！啊！爱德华假如愿意的话，让他解除婚约倒十分恰当，真不愧是露西呀。可怜的人儿！我衷心地希望，我能替他搞到个牧师的职位。你瞧，她称我为亲爱的詹宁斯太太。她真是天下心肠最好的姑娘。—点不假，千真万确。那句活写得好极了。是的，是的，我肯定要去看她。她考虑得多么周到，把每个人都想到了！亲爱的，谢激你把信拿给我看。这是我见到的写得最动人的一封信，说明露西很有理智，很有情感。” 　
  
回复 引用 新鲜事
顶端
narcis

ZxID：9184039

763474鲜花 75鸡蛋

等级: 派派版主
一二三四五六七~~~
举报 只看该作者 38楼  发表于: 2013-10-29 0
Chapter Thirty-seven

Mrs. Palmer was so well at the end of a fortnight, that her mother felt it no longer necessary to give up the whole of her time to her; and, contenting herself with visiting her once or twice a day, returned from that period to her own home, and her own habits, in which she found the Miss Dashwoods very ready to resume their former share.

About the third or fourth morning after their being thus resettled in Berkeley Street, Mrs. Jennings, on returning from her ordinary visit to Mrs. Palmer, entered the drawing-room, where Elinor was sitting by herself, with an air of such hurrying importance as prepared her to hear something wonderful; and giving her time only to form that idea, began directly to justify it, by saying,

"Lord! my dear Miss Dashwood! have you heard the news?"

"No, ma'am. What is it?"

"Something so strange! But you shall hear it all.— When I got to Mr. Palmer's, I found Charlotte quite in a fuss about the child. She was sure it was very ill—it cried, and fretted, and was all over pimples. So I looked at it directly, and, 'Lord! my dear,' says I, 'it is nothing in the world, but the red gum—' and nurse said just the same. But Charlotte, she would not be satisfied, so Mr. Donavan was sent for; and luckily he happened to just come in from Harley Street, so he stepped over directly, and as soon as ever he saw the child, be said just as we did, that it was nothing in the world but the red gum, and then Charlotte was easy. And so, just as he was going away again, it came into my head, I am sure I do not know how I happened to think of it, but it came into my head to ask him if there was any news. So upon that, he smirked, and simpered, and looked grave, and seemed to know something or other, and at last he said in a whisper, 'For fear any unpleasant report should reach the young ladies under your care as to their sister's indisposition, I think it advisable to say, that I believe there is no great reason for alarm; I hope Mrs. Dashwood will do very well.'"

"What! is Fanny ill?"

"That is exactly what I said, my dear. 'Lord!' says I, 'is Mrs. Dashwood ill?' So then it all came out; and the long and the short of the matter, by all I can learn, seems to be this. Mr. Edward Ferrars, the very young man I used to joke with you about (but however, as it turns out, I am monstrous glad there was never any thing in it), Mr. Edward Ferrars, it seems, has been engaged above this twelvemonth to my cousin Lucy!—There's for you, my dear!—And not a creature knowing a syllable of the matter, except Nancy!—Could you have believed such a thing possible?— There is no great wonder in their liking one another; but that matters should be brought so forward between them, and nobody suspect it!—THAT is strange!—I never happened to see them together, or I am sure I should have found it out directly. Well, and so this was kept a great secret, for fear of Mrs. Ferrars, and neither she nor your brother or sister suspected a word of the matter;—till this very morning, poor Nancy, who, you know, is a well-meaning creature, but no conjurer, popt it all out. 'Lord!' thinks she to herself, 'they are all so fond of Lucy, to be sure they will make no difficulty about it;' and so, away she went to your sister, who was sitting all alone at her carpet-work, little suspecting what was to come—for she had just been saying to your brother, only five minutes before, that she thought to make a match between Edward and some Lord's daughter or other, I forget who. So you may think what a blow it was to all her vanity and pride. She fell into violent hysterics immediately, with such screams as reached your brother's ears, as he was sitting in his own dressing-room down stairs, thinking about writing a letter to his steward in the country. So up he flew directly, and a terrible scene took place, for Lucy was come to them by that time, little dreaming what was going on. Poor soul! I pity HER. And I must say, I think she was used very hardly; for your sister scolded like any fury, and soon drove her into a fainting fit. Nancy, she fell upon her knees, and cried bitterly; and your brother, he walked about the room, and said he did not know what to do. Mrs. Dashwood declared they should not stay a minute longer in the house, and your brother was forced to go down upon HIS knees too, to persuade her to let them stay till they had packed up their clothes. THEN she fell into hysterics again, and he was so frightened that he would send for Mr. Donavan, and Mr. Donavan found the house in all this uproar. The carriage was at the door ready to take my poor cousins away, and they were just stepping in as he came off; poor Lucy in such a condition, he says, she could hardly walk; and Nancy, she was almost as bad. I declare, I have no patience with your sister; and I hope, with all my heart, it will be a match in spite of her. Lord! what a taking poor Mr. Edward will be in when he hears of it! To have his love used so scornfully! for they say he is monstrous fond of her, as well he may. I should not wonder, if he was to be in the greatest passion!—and Mr. Donavan thinks just the same. He and I had a great deal of talk about it; and the best of all is, that he is gone back again to Harley Street, that he may be within call when Mrs. Ferrars is told of it, for she was sent for as soon as ever my cousins left the house, for your sister was sure SHE would be in hysterics too; and so she may, for what I care. I have no pity for either of them. I have no notion of people's making such a to-do about money and greatness. There is no reason on earth why Mr. Edward and Lucy should not marry; for I am sure Mrs. Ferrars may afford to do very well by her son, and though Lucy has next to nothing herself, she knows better than any body how to make the most of every thing; I dare say, if Mrs. Ferrars would only allow him five hundred a-year, she would make as good an appearance with it as any body else would with eight. Lord! how snug they might live in such another cottage as yours—or a little bigger—with two maids, and two men; and I believe I could help them to a housemaid, for my Betty has a sister out of place, that would fit them exactly."

Here Mrs. Jennings ceased, and as Elinor had had time enough to collect her thoughts, she was able to give such an answer, and make such observations, as the subject might naturally be supposed to produce. Happy to find that she was not suspected of any extraordinary interest in it; that Mrs. Jennings (as she had of late often hoped might be the case) had ceased to imagine her at all attached to Edward; and happy above all the rest, in the absence of Marianne, she felt very well able to speak of the affair without embarrassment, and to give her judgment, as she believed, with impartiality on the conduct of every one concerned in it.

She could hardly determine what her own expectation of its event really was; though she earnestly tried to drive away the notion of its being possible to end otherwise at last, than in the marriage of Edward and Lucy. What Mrs. Ferrars would say and do, though there could not be a doubt of its nature, she was anxious to hear; and still more anxious to know how Edward would conduct himself. For HIM she felt much compassion;—for Lucy very little—and it cost her some pains to procure that little;—for the rest of the party none at all.

As Mrs. Jennings could talk on no other subject, Elinor soon saw the necessity of preparing Marianne for its discussion. No time was to be lost in undeceiving her, in making her acquainted with the real truth, and in endeavouring to bring her to hear it talked of by others, without betraying that she felt any uneasiness for her sister, or any resentment against Edward.

Elinor's office was a painful one.—She was going to remove what she really believed to be her sister's chief consolation,—to give such particulars of Edward as she feared would ruin him for ever in her good opinion,-and to make Marianne, by a resemblance in their situations, which to HER fancy would seem strong, feel all her own disappointment over again. But unwelcome as such a task must be, it was necessary to be done, and Elinor therefore hastened to perform it.

She was very far from wishing to dwell on her own feelings, or to represent herself as suffering much, any otherwise than as the self-command she had practised since her first knowledge of Edward's engagement, might suggest a hint of what was practicable to Marianne. Her narration was clear and simple; and though it could not be given without emotion, it was not accompanied by violent agitation, nor impetuous grief.—THAT belonged rather to the hearer, for Marianne listened with horror, and cried excessively. Elinor was to be the comforter of others in her own distresses, no less than in theirs; and all the comfort that could be given by assurances of her own composure of mind, and a very earnest vindication of Edward from every charge but of imprudence, was readily offered.

But Marianne for some time would give credit to neither. Edward seemed a second Willoughby; and acknowledging as Elinor did, that she HAD loved him most sincerely, could she feel less than herself! As for Lucy Steele, she considered her so totally unamiable, so absolutely incapable of attaching a sensible man, that she could not be persuaded at first to believe, and afterwards to pardon, any former affection of Edward for her. She would not even admit it to have been natural; and Elinor left her to be convinced that it was so, by that which only could convince her, a better knowledge of mankind.

Her first communication had reached no farther than to state the fact of the engagement, and the length of time it had existed.—Marianne's feelings had then broken in, and put an end to all regularity of detail; and for some time all that could be done was to soothe her distress, lessen her alarms, and combat her resentment. The first question on her side, which led to farther particulars, was,

"How long has this been known to you, Elinor? has he written to you?"

"I have known it these four months. When Lucy first came to Barton Park last November, she told me in confidence of her engagement."

At these words, Marianne's eyes expressed the astonishment which her lips could not utter. After a pause of wonder, she exclaimed—

"Four months!—Have you known of this four months?"

Elinor confirmed it.

"What!—while attending me in all my misery, has this been on your heart?—And I have reproached you for being happy!"—

"It was not fit that you should then know how much I was the reverse!"

"Four months!"—cried Marianne again.—"So calm!—so cheerful!—how have you been supported?"—

"By feeling that I was doing my duty.—My promise to Lucy, obliged me to be secret. I owed it to her, therefore, to avoid giving any hint of the truth; and I owed it to my family and friends, not to create in them a solicitude about me, which it could not be in my power to satisfy."

Marianne seemed much struck.

"I have very often wished to undeceive yourself and my mother," added Elinor; "and once or twice I have attempted it;—but without betraying my trust, I never could have convinced you."

"Four months!—and yet you loved him!"—

"Yes. But I did not love only him;—and while the comfort of others was dear to me, I was glad to spare them from knowing how much I felt. Now, I can think and speak of it with little emotion. I would not have you suffer on my account; for I assure you I no longer suffer materially myself. I have many things to support me. I am not conscious of having provoked the disappointment by any imprudence of my own, I have borne it as much as possible without spreading it farther. I acquit Edward of essential misconduct. I wish him very happy; and I am so sure of his always doing his duty, that though now he may harbour some regret, in the end he must become so. Lucy does not want sense, and that is the foundation on which every thing good may be built.—And after all, Marianne, after all that is bewitching in the idea of a single and constant attachment, and all that can be said of one's happiness depending entirely on any particular person, it is not meant—it is not fit—it is not possible that it should be so.— Edward will marry Lucy; he will marry a woman superior in person and understanding to half her sex; and time and habit will teach him to forget that he ever thought another superior to her."—

"If such is your way of thinking," said Marianne, "if the loss of what is most valued is so easily to be made up by something else, your resolution, your self-command, are, perhaps, a little less to be wondered at.—They are brought more within my comprehension."

"I understand you.—You do not suppose that I have ever felt much.—For four months, Marianne, I have had all this hanging on my mind, without being at liberty to speak of it to a single creature; knowing that it would make you and my mother most unhappy whenever it were explained to you, yet unable to prepare you for it in the least.— It was told me,—it was in a manner forced on me by the very person herself, whose prior engagement ruined all my prospects; and told me, as I thought, with triumph.— This person's suspicions, therefore, I have had to oppose, by endeavouring to appear indifferent where I have been most deeply interested;—and it has not been only once;—I have had her hopes and exultation to listen to again and again.— I have known myself to be divided from Edward for ever, without hearing one circumstance that could make me less desire the connection.—Nothing has proved him unworthy; nor has anything declared him indifferent to me.— I have had to contend against the unkindness of his sister, and the insolence of his mother; and have suffered the punishment of an attachment, without enjoying its advantages.— And all this has been going on at a time, when, as you know too well, it has not been my only unhappiness.— If you can think me capable of ever feeling—surely you may suppose that I have suffered now. The composure of mind with which I have brought myself at present to consider the matter, the consolation that I have been willing to admit, have been the effect of constant and painful exertion;—they did not spring up of themselves;—they did not occur to relieve my spirits at first.— No, Marianne.—Then, if I had not been bound to silence, perhaps nothing could have kept me entirely—not even what I owed to my dearest friends—from openly shewing that I was very unhappy."—

Marianne was quite subdued.—

"Oh! Elinor," she cried, "you have made me hate myself for ever.—How barbarous have I been to you!—you, who have been my only comfort, who have borne with me in all my misery, who have seemed to be only suffering for me!—Is this my gratitude?—Is this the only return I can make you?—Because your merit cries out upon myself, I have been trying to do it away."

The tenderest caresses followed this confession. In such a frame of mind as she was now in, Elinor had no difficulty in obtaining from her whatever promise she required; and at her request, Marianne engaged never to speak of the affair to any one with the least appearance of bitterness;—to meet Lucy without betraying the smallest increase of dislike to her;—and even to see Edward himself, if chance should bring them together, without any diminution of her usual cordiality.— These were great concessions;—but where Marianne felt that she had injured, no reparation could be too much for her to make.

She performed her promise of being discreet, to admiration.—She attended to all that Mrs. Jennings had to say upon the subject, with an unchanging complexion, dissented from her in nothing, and was heard three times to say, "Yes, ma'am."—She listened to her praise of Lucy with only moving from one chair to another, and when Mrs. Jennings talked of Edward's affection, it cost her only a spasm in her throat.—Such advances towards heroism in her sister, made Elinor feel equal to any thing herself.

The next morning brought a farther trial of it, in a visit from their brother, who came with a most serious aspect to talk over the dreadful affair, and bring them news of his wife.

"You have heard, I suppose," said he with great solemnity, as soon as he was seated, "of the very shocking discovery that took place under our roof yesterday."

They all looked their assent; it seemed too awful a moment for speech.

"Your sister," he continued, "has suffered dreadfully. Mrs. Ferrars too—in short it has been a scene of such complicated distress—but I will hope that the storm may be weathered without our being any of us quite overcome. Poor Fanny! she was in hysterics all yesterday. But I would not alarm you too much. Donavan says there is nothing materially to be apprehended; her constitution is a good one, and her resolution equal to any thing. She has borne it all, with the fortitude of an angel! She says she never shall think well of anybody again; and one cannot wonder at it, after being so deceived!—meeting with such ingratitude, where so much kindness had been shewn, so much confidence had been placed! It was quite out of the benevolence of her heart, that she had asked these young women to her house; merely because she thought they deserved some attention, were harmless, well-behaved girls, and would be pleasant companions; for otherwise we both wished very much to have invited you and Marianne to be with us, while your kind friend there, was attending her daughter. And now to be so rewarded! 'I wish, with all my heart,' says poor Fanny in her affectionate way, 'that we had asked your sisters instead of them.'"

Here he stopped to be thanked; which being done, he went on.

"What poor Mrs. Ferrars suffered, when first Fanny broke it to her, is not to be described. While she with the truest affection had been planning a most eligible connection for him, was it to be supposed that he could be all the time secretly engaged to another person!—such a suspicion could never have entered her head! If she suspected ANY prepossession elsewhere, it could not be in THAT quarter. 'THERE, to be sure,' said she, 'I might have thought myself safe.' She was quite in an agony. We consulted together, however, as to what should be done, and at last she determined to send for Edward. He came. But I am sorry to relate what ensued. All that Mrs. Ferrars could say to make him put an end to the engagement, assisted too as you may well suppose by my arguments, and Fanny's entreaties, was of no avail. Duty, affection, every thing was disregarded. I never thought Edward so stubborn, so unfeeling before. His mother explained to him her liberal designs, in case of his marrying Miss Morton; told him she would settle on him the Norfolk estate, which, clear of land-tax, brings in a good thousand a-year; offered even, when matters grew desperate, to make it twelve hundred; and in opposition to this, if he still persisted in this low connection, represented to him the certain penury that must attend the match. His own two thousand pounds she protested should be his all; she would never see him again; and so far would she be from affording him the smallest assistance, that if he were to enter into any profession with a view of better support, she would do all in her power to prevent him advancing in it."

Here Marianne, in an ecstasy of indignation, clapped her hands together, and cried, "Gracious God! can this be possible!"

"Well may you wonder, Marianne," replied her brother, "at the obstinacy which could resist such arguments as these. Your exclamation is very natural."

Marianne was going to retort, but she remembered her promises, and forbore.

"All this, however," he continued, "was urged in vain. Edward said very little; but what he did say, was in the most determined manner. Nothing should prevail on him to give up his engagement. He would stand to it, cost him what it might."

"Then," cried Mrs. Jennings with blunt sincerity, no longer able to be silent, "he has acted like an honest man! I beg your pardon, Mr. Dashwood, but if he had done otherwise, I should have thought him a rascal. I have some little concern in the business, as well as yourself, for Lucy Steele is my cousin, and I believe there is not a better kind of girl in the world, nor one who more deserves a good husband."

John Dashwood was greatly astonished; but his nature was calm, not open to provocation, and he never wished to offend anybody, especially anybody of good fortune. He therefore replied, without any resentment,

"I would by no means speak disrespectfully of any relation of yours, madam. Miss Lucy Steele is, I dare say, a very deserving young woman, but in the present case you know, the connection must be impossible. And to have entered into a secret engagement with a young man under her uncle's care, the son of a woman especially of such very large fortune as Mrs. Ferrars, is perhaps, altogether a little extraordinary. In short, I do not mean to reflect upon the behaviour of any person whom you have a regard for, Mrs. Jennings. We all wish her extremely happy; and Mrs. Ferrars's conduct throughout the whole, has been such as every conscientious, good mother, in like circumstances, would adopt. It has been dignified and liberal. Edward has drawn his own lot, and I fear it will be a bad one."

Marianne sighed out her similar apprehension; and Elinor's heart wrung for the feelings of Edward, while braving his mother's threats, for a woman who could not reward him.

"Well, sir," said Mrs. Jennings, "and how did it end?"

"I am sorry to say, ma'am, in a most unhappy rupture:— Edward is dismissed for ever from his mother's notice. He left her house yesterday, but where he is gone, or whether he is still in town, I do not know; for WE of course can make no inquiry."

"Poor young man!—and what is to become of him?"

"What, indeed, ma'am! It is a melancholy consideration. Born to the prospect of such affluence! I cannot conceive a situation more deplorable. The interest of two thousand pounds—how can a man live on it?—and when to that is added the recollection, that he might, but for his own folly, within three months have been in the receipt of two thousand, five hundred a-year (for Miss Morton has thirty thousand pounds,) I cannot picture to myself a more wretched condition. We must all feel for him; and the more so, because it is totally out of our power to assist him."

"Poor young man!" cried Mrs. Jennings, "I am sure he should be very welcome to bed and board at my house; and so I would tell him if I could see him. It is not fit that he should be living about at his own charge now, at lodgings and taverns."

Elinor's heart thanked her for such kindness towards Edward, though she could not forbear smiling at the form of it.

"If he would only have done as well by himself," said John Dashwood, "as all his friends were disposed to do by him, he might now have been in his proper situation, and would have wanted for nothing. But as it is, it must be out of anybody's power to assist him. And there is one thing more preparing against him, which must be worse than all—his mother has determined, with a very natural kind of spirit, to settle THAT estate upon Robert immediately, which might have been Edward's, on proper conditions. I left her this morning with her lawyer, talking over the business."

"Well!" said Mrs. Jennings, "that is her revenge. Everybody has a way of their own. But I don't think mine would be, to make one son independent, because another had plagued me."

Marianne got up and walked about the room.

"Can anything be more galling to the spirit of a man," continued John, "than to see his younger brother in possession of an estate which might have been his own? Poor Edward! I feel for him sincerely."

A few minutes more spent in the same kind of effusion, concluded his visit; and with repeated assurances to his sisters that he really believed there was no material danger in Fanny's indisposition, and that they need not therefore be very uneasy about it, he went away; leaving the three ladies unanimous in their sentiments on the present occasion, as far at least as it regarded Mrs. Ferrars's conduct, the Dashwoods', and Edward's.

Marianne's indignation burst forth as soon as he quitted the room; and as her vehemence made reserve impossible in Elinor, and unnecessary in Mrs. Jennings, they all joined in a very spirited critique upon the party.



　　帕尔默夫人产后已满两周，身体状况很好，她母亲认为没有必要再把全部时间都泡在她身上，每天来探视一两次也就足够了。于是，结束了前一段的护理，回到家里，恢复了以前的生活习惯。她发现，达什伍德家两位小姐很想再度分享先前的乐趣。
　　她们妹妹回到伯克利街大约过了三四天的一个上午，詹宁斯太太去看望帕尔默夫人刚回来，见埃丽诺独自坐在客厅里，便急急匆勿、神气十足地走了进去，好让她觉得又要听到什么奇闻了。她只给她转出这个念头的时间，接着马上证实说：
　　“天哪！亲爱的达什伍德小姐！你有没有听到这个消息？”
　　“没有，太太。什么消息？”
　　“好奇怪的事情！不过我会全告诉你的。我刚才到帕尔默先生家里，发现夏洛特为孩子急坏了。她一口咬定孩子病得厉害——孩子哭呀，闹呀，浑身都是丘疹。我当即一瞧，就说：‘天哪！亲爱的，这不是丘疹性寻麻疹才怪呢！’护士也是这么说的，可是夏洛特不肯相信，于是去请多纳万先生。幸亏他刚从哈利街回来，马上就赶来了。他一见到孩子，说的和我说的一模一样，就是丘疹性寻麻疹，夏洛特这才放心。多纳万先生刚想走，我也不知道怎么搞的，居然想起来问他有没有什么消息。他听了得意地傻笑了，然后摆出一副一本正经的神气，看样子像是了解什么秘密似的。最后他小声说道：‘由于担心你们照应的两位小姐得知嫂嫂身体欠安的消息会感到难过，我最好这么说：我认为没有理由大惊小怪，希望达什伍德夫人平安无事。’”
　　“什么？范妮病了！”
　　“我当时也是这么说的，亲爱的。‘天哪！’我说，‘达什伍德夫人病了？’接着，全都真相大白了。据我了解，事情大概是这样的：爱德华．费拉斯先生，也就是我常常常来取笑你的那位少爷（不过我很高兴，事实证明这些玩笑毫无根据），看来，这位爱德华．费拉斯先生与我表侄女露西订婚已经一年多了。你看，亲爱的，竟有这种事！除了南希，别人居然一点不知道！你能相信会有这种事吗？他们两人相爱，这倒不奇怪。但是事情闹到这个地步，竟然没有引起任何人的猜疑！这也就怪啦！我从来没有看见他们在一起过，不然我肯定马上就能看出苗头。你瞧，他们由于害怕费拉斯太太，就绝对保守秘密。直到今天早晨，一直没有引起他母亲和你哥嫂的丝毫怀疑。到了今天早晨，可怜的南希，你知道她本是个好心人，可就是没长心眼，一股脑儿全给捅出来了。‘天哪！’她自言自语地说，‘她们都这么喜欢露西，将来肯定不会从中刁难啦。’说罢，赶忙跑到你嫂子跟前。你嫂子正独自一个人坐在那儿织地毯，压根儿没想到会出什么事——她五分钟前还在对你哥哥说，她想让爱德华和某某勋爵的女儿配成一对，我忘了是哪位勋爵。因此你可以想象，这对你嫂子的虚荣心和自尊心是多么沉重的打击。她顿时歇斯底里大发作，一个劲地尖声叫喊。你哥哥坐在楼下化妆室里，想给他乡下的管家写封信。听到尖叫声，飞身上楼，随即发生了一个可怕的情景，因为当时露西正好来了，她一点也不知道出了什么事。可怜的人儿！我真可怜她。应该说，我认为她受到了十分无情的对待；因为你嫂子发狂似地破口大骂，露西当即昏厥过去。南希跪在地上，失声痛哭。你哥哥在房里跪来胁去，说他不知道该怎么办。达什伍德夫人宣称，詹宁斯太太说到这里停住了。好在埃丽诺有足够的时间定定心，因而还能合乎情理地做出回答，谈点看法。她高兴地发现，詹宁斯太太并没怀疑她对此事特别感兴趣。而且像她最近常常希望的那样，这位太太不再认为她还眷恋着爱德华。而最使她感到高兴的是，因为玛丽安不在场，她觉得自己完全可以不露窘态地谈论这件事，并且认为，对与这件事有关的每个人的行为，完全可以不抱任何偏见地做出判断。
　　到底如何预期事情的结局，她简直捉摸不定，虽然她千方百计地想打消这样的念头，即事情不是以爱德华和露西的结婚告终，而可能出现别的结局。她急切地想知道费拉斯太太会怎么说，怎么办，尽管这本是无可怀疑的事情。她还更加急切地想知道爱德华会如何反应。对于他，她深感同情。对于露西，她只有一点点同情——而这一点点同情还是她好不容易从心窝里挤出来的。对于有关的其他人，她丝毫也不同情。
　　由于詹宁斯太太没有别的事情好谈，埃丽诺很快认识到，有必要使玛丽安做好谈论这件事的思想准备。不能再蒙骗她了，要立即向她说明事实真相，尽力使她在听别人谈论的时候，不要露出为姐姐担忧、对爱德华不满的神情。
　　埃丽诺要做的是件痛苦的事情。她将搞掉的，她确信是她妹妹的主要精神慰藉；详细叙说一下爱德华的情况，这恐怕会永远毁坏她对他的良好印象。另外，在玛丽安看来，她们姐妹俩的遭遇极其相似，这也会重新勾起她自己的失望情绪。但是，尽管事情令人不快，还得照办不误，于是埃丽诺赶忙执行任务去了。
　　她绝不想多谈她自己的情感，不想多谈她自己如何痛苦，因为她从第一次获悉爱德华订婚以来所采取的克制态度，可以启迪玛丽安怎么办才比较现实。她说得简单明了，虽说没法做到不动感情，她还是没有过于激动，过于悲伤。真正激动、悲伤的倒是听的人，因为玛丽安惊骇地听着，痛哭不止。埃丽诺倒成了别人的安慰者：妹妹痛苦的时候她要安慰她，她自己痛苦的时候她还得安慰她。她甘愿主动地安慰她，一再保证说她心里很坦然，并且苦口婆心地替爱德华开脱罪责，只承认他有些轻率。
　　但是，玛丽安眼下不肯相信那两个人。爱德华好像是第二个威洛比。她像埃丽诺一样，明知她曾经真心实意地爱过他，这怎么能叫她心里感到好受呢！至于露西．斯蒂尔，她认为她一点也不可爱。一个有理智的男人根本不可能爱上她。因此，爱德华先前钟情于她，始而使她无法置信，继而使她无法谅解。她甚至不愿承认这本是很自然的事情。埃丽诺只好让她通过对世人的进一步了解，来认识事情的必然性，只有这样才能使她信服。
　　埃丽诺在第一次交谈中，只谈到订婚这件事以及订婚多长时间了。这时玛丽安心里实在忍受不了，打断了姐姐有条不紊的详细叙述。一时间，埃丽诺只能设法减轻她的痛苦，使她不要那么大惊小怪，满腹怨恨。玛丽安提出的第一个问题又引出了更多的细枝未节：
　　“埃丽诺，这个情况你知道有多久了？他给你写过信没有？”
　　“我知道有四个月了。露西去年十一月初次来巴顿庄园时，私下告诉我她已订了婚。”
　　听了这话，玛丽安嘴里没说，目光里却流露出十分惊讶的神气。她诧异地顿了顿，然后惊叹道：
　　“四个月！这事你已知道四个月啦？”
　　埃丽诺肯定了这一点。
　　“什么！我遭到不幸你来照料我的时候，原来自己也有这种伤心事儿？而我还责备你快活呢！”
　　“实际情况恰恰相反，但是当时还不便于让你知道。”
　　“四个月！”玛丽安再次嚷道，“这么镇定！这么乐观！你怎么忍得住啊？”
　　“我觉得我在尽我的本分。我向露西许过诺，一定要保守秘密。因此，我要向她负责，不能透露一点风声；我还要向我的亲友负责，不让他们为我担忧，我无法告诉他们事实真相。”
　　玛丽安似乎大为感动。
　　“我常想别再让你和母亲蒙在鼓里，”埃丽诺接着说，“我试过一两次，但是，要想让你们相信，你势必要违背自己的谎言。”
　　“四个月！可你还爱着他！”
　　“是的。当时，我不单单爱他，还生怕引起亲友的不安，宁愿不让大家知道我有多么难过。现在，无论想起这件事，还是谈起这件事，我都可以做到无动于衷。我不想让你们为我受苦，我可以向你保证，我已经不再过于悲痛了。我有很多可以聊以自慰的地方。我知道，这次失意决不是由于我自己的轻率引起的，而且我一直尽量忍着，没有宣扬出去。我还替爱德华开脱，说他没有什么大不了的过错。我希望他非常幸福，确信他一贯很尽职，现在虽说可能有点悔恨，最终一定会幸福的。露西并不缺乏理智，这是造成美满姻缘的基础。无论如何，玛丽安，尽管有关对象专一、始终不渝的爱情的概念十妥迷惑人，尽管人们可以说一个人的幸福完全依赖于某一个人，但是这并不意味应该如此－－那是不恰当，不可能的。爱德华要娶露西。他要娶一个才貌胜过半数女性的女人。随着时间的推移、习性的改变，他以后会忘记，他曾经认为有人比她强。”
　　“如果你这样思考问题，”玛丽安说，“如果失去最珍贵的东西可以如此轻易地用别的东西加以弥补，那么你的坚韧不拔和自我克制也许就不足怪了。这就让我更容易理解了。”
　　“我明白你的意思。你以为我一直无所谓似的。玛丽安，这四个月以来，这桩事一直坠在我的心上，我不能随意向任何一个人倾诉。我知道，一旦和向你和母亲作解释，非但不会让你们做好任何思想准备，反而会引起你们的极大痛苦。告诉我这件事的－－而且是强迫我听的，就是先前同爱德华订过婚，毁了我一生前程的那个人。我觉得，她是带着洋洋得意的神气告诉我的。这人对我有疑心，我只好和她对着来，当她讲到我最感兴趣的地方，我偏偏装出似听非听的样子。这事还不止发生过一次，我要三番五次地听好叙说她如何满怀希望，如何欣喜若狂。我知道我与爱德华永远分离了，但是我没听到一桩事情使我觉得和他结合有什么不理想的，没有任何情况证明他不值得钟情，也没有任何情况表明他对我冷漠无情。我要顶住他姐姐的冷酷无情、他母亲的蛮横无礼，吃尽了痴情的苦头，却没尝到什么甜头。而且你知道得一清二楚，这一切发生的时候，我还不单单遇到这一件不幸呢。如果你认为还有感情的话，你现在当然会想象得到，我一直很痛苦。我现在考虑问题之所以头脑比较冷静，我也愿意承认自己得到了安慰，不过那都是一直拼命到宽慰。没有的玛丽安。当时，我若不是必顺保持缄默，也许无论什么事情－－即使我对最亲密的朋友所承担的义务－－也不可能阻止我公开表明我非常不幸。”
　　玛丽安被彻底说服了。
　　“噢！埃丽诺，”她嚷道，“我要痛恨自己一辈子。我对你太残忍啦!一向只有你在安慰我，我悲痛的时候你和我患难与共，就好像只是为我忍受痛苦似的！可我就这样感激你？就这样报答你？你的好品格表现得如此明显，我却一直不当一回事。”
　　话音一落，接着便是一阵热烈的亲吻。她现在处于这种心情，任凭埃丽诺提出什么要求，她都会满口答应的。经姐姐要求，玛丽安保证决不带着丝毫苦相跟任何人谈论这件事；见到露西决不露出丝毫更加厌恶的神色；即使偶然见到爱德华本人，也要一如既往地热诚相待，决不能有任何怠慢。这是很了不起的退让，不过玛丽安一旦感到自己冤枉了别人，只要能弥补过失，叫她做什么她都在所不辞。
　　她恪守诺言，果然谨慎可嘉。詹宁斯太太在这个问题上不管怎么唠叨，她都不动声色地倾听着，从不表示一点异议，并且三次说道：“是的，太太。”她听她赞扬露西，只是身不由己地从一张椅子挪到另一张椅子上。詹宁斯太太谈到爱德华的一片深情时，她只不过喉头痉挛了一下。看见妹妹表现得如此坚强，埃丽诺觉得自己也能经得起任何考验。
　　第二天早晨，她们的哥哥来访，给她们带来了进一步的考验。他带着极其严肃的表情，谈起了这桩可怕的事情，并且带来了他太太的消息。
　　“我想你们都听说了吧，”他刚刚坐定，便一本正经地说道，“我们家里昨天有个十分惊人的发现。”
　　她们看样子都表示同意。这似乎是个严肃的时刻，大家都噤若寒蝉。
　　“你们的嫂嫂，”他接着说，“痛苦极了。费拉斯太太也是如此——总之一句话，一幅十分悲惨的情景。不过，我希望这起风暴就会过去，别把我们任何人搞得狼狈不堪。可怜的范妮！她昨天歇斯底里了一整天。不过，我不想过于惊吓你们。多纳万说，没有什么大不了的，不必担忧，她体质好，又有毅力，怎么也顶得住。她以天使般的坚毅精神硬挺下来了！她说，她决不会再瞧得起任何人。这也难怪，她受了骗啊！她是那样厚待她们，那样信任她们，她们却这样忘恩负义。她是出自一片好心，才把这两位年轻小姐请到家里的。她之所以这样做，只是因为她觉得她们值得器重，都是天真无邪、规规矩矩的姑娘，，可以成为愉快的伙伴。要不然，在你那位好心的朋友侍候女儿期间，我俩倒很想邀请你和玛丽安来家作客。现在可好，受到这种报答！可怜的范妮情深意切地说：‘我打心眼里希望，我们当初请的是你妹妹，而不是她们。’”
　　他说到这里停住了，等着对方道谢。接受谢意之后，他又继续说下去。
　　“费拉斯太太真可怜，范妮第一次向她透露这个消息时，她那个痛苦劲儿，简直没法形容。本来、她怀着赤诚的慈爱之心，一直想给儿子安排一门最合适的婚事，哪想到他居然早就同另一个人秘密订了婚：她万万想不到会出这种事！假使她怀疑他已早有对象，那也不可能是那个人。她说：‘对那个人，我本认为自己可以大胆放心的。’她痛心极啦。不过，我们一起商量了该怎么办，最后她决定把爱德华叫来，他来是来了，但是说起后来的事情，真叫人遗憾。费拉斯太太苦口婆心地动员他终止婚约，而且你完全可以想象，我和范妮也在帮着动员、我以理相劝，范妮一再恳求，可是徒劳无益。什么义务啊，感情啊，全被置之度外，我以前从没想到爱德华这么固执，这么无情。他假若娶丁莫顿小姐，他母亲可有些慷慨的打算，并且都向他交了底。她说她要把诺福克的地产传给他，这宗地产用不着缴纳土地税，每年足有一千镑的进益。后来，眼看事情严重了，她甚至提出加到一千二百镑。与此相反，她还向他说明：如果他们依然坚持要和那位出身低贱的女人结婚，那么婚后必然会陷入贫穷。她断言说：他自己的两千镑将是他的全部财产；她永远不要再见到他；她决不会给他一丝一毫的帮助，假如他捞到一个有作为的职业，那她也要干方百计地阻止他飞黄腾达。”
　　玛丽安听到这里，顿时怒不可遏，两手啪地一拍，大声嚷道：“天哪！这可能吗？”
　　“玛丽安，”她哥哥回答道，“你完全有理由对他的顽固不化表示惊异，她母亲如此讲道理他都不听。你的惊叹是很自然的。”
　　玛丽安正要反驳，但又想起了自己的许诺，只好忍住。
　　“然而，”约斡继续说道，“这一切都没效果。爱德华很少说话，说了几句，态度很坚决。别人怎么劝说，他也不肯放弃婚约。不管付出多大代价，他也要坚持到底。”
　　“这么说，”詹宁斯太太再也无法保持缄默了，便带着直率而诚挚的口气嚷道，“他这样做倒像个老实人。请恕我直言，达什伍德先生，他假若采取另外一套做法的话，我倒要把他看作无赖了。我和你一样，和这件事多少有点关系，因为露西．斯蒂尔是我的表侄女。我相信天下没有比她更好的姑娘啦，谁也没有她更配嫁个好丈夫的了。”
　　约翰．达什伍德大为惊讶。不过他性情文静，很少发火，从不愿意得罪任何人，特别是有钱人。因此，他心平气和地答道：
　　“太太，我决不想非议你的哪位亲戚。露西．斯蒂尔小姐也许是个非常令人器重的年轻女子，但是你知道，目前这门亲事是不可能的。也许，能和她舅舅照应下的年轻人秘密订婚，而这位年轻人又是费拉斯太太这样一位特别有钱的女人的儿子，这总归有点异乎寻常。总而言之，詹宁斯太太，我并不想非难你所宠爱的任何人的行为。我们大家都祝她无比幸福。费拉斯太太的行为自始至终都不过分，每个认真负责的慈母在同样情况下，都会采取同样的处置办法。她做得体面大方。爱德华已经做出了命运的抉择，我担心这是个错误的抉择。”
　　玛丽安发出一阵叹息，表示了同样的担心。埃丽诺替爱德华感到痛心，他不顾他母亲的威胁，硬要娶一个不会给他带来报偿的女
　　“先生，”詹宁斯太太说，“后来怎么样啦？”
　　“说起来真遗憾，太太，结果发生了极其不幸的决裂——爱德华被撵走了，他母亲永远不想见到他。他昨天离开家，可是到哪儿去了，现在是否还在城里，我一概不得而知，因为我们当然不好打听啦。”
　　“可怜的年轻人！他将怎么办啊？”
　　“真的，怎么办啊，太太!想起来真叫人伤心。生来本是个亨福的命!我无法想象还有比这更悲惨的境况。靠两千镑得到点利息——一个人怎么能靠这点钱生活！他若不是因为自己傻，本来三个月后还可以每年享有两千五百镑的收入（因为莫顿小姐有三万镑的财产）。考虑到这一点，我无法想象还有比这更悲惨的境况。我们大家都为他担心，因为我们完全没有能力帮助他，这就更为他担心。”
　　“可怜的年轻人!”詹宁斯太太嚷道，“我真欢迎他来我家吃住。我要能见到他，就这么对他说。他现在还不该自费生活，不能到处住公寓，住旅馆。”
　　埃丽诺打心眼里感谢她如此关心爱德华，虽然关心的方式使她不禁感到好笑。
　　“朋友们一心想帮助他，”约翰．达什伍德说，“他只要自爱一些，现在也就称心如意了，真是要什么有什么。但在事实上，谁也帮不了他的忙。而且他还面临着另一个惩罚，大概比什么都糟糕－—他母亲带着一种自然而然的心情，决定把那份地产立即传给罗伯特。本来，爱德华要是接受合理的条件，这份地产就是他的了。我今天早晨离开费拉斯太太时，她正在和她的律师商量这件事。”
　　“哎呀！”詹宁斯太太说，“那是她的报复。每个人都有自己的做法。不过我想，我不会因为一个儿子惹恼了我，就把财产传给另一个儿子。”
　　玛丽安立起身，在房里踱来踱去。
　　“一个人眼看着本该属于自己的地产却被弟弟捞去，”约翰继续说道，“还有什么事情比这更叫人烦恼的？可怜的爱德华！我真心实意地同情他。”
　　就这么慷慨激昂地又说了一阵之后，约翰的访问便结束了。他一再向他妹妹保证说，他确信范妮的病情没有什么大危险，因此她们不必过于担忧。说罢便走了出去，留下的三位太太小姐对当前这个问题倒取得了一致的看法，至少对费拉斯太太、达什伍德夫妇和爱德华的行为，看法是一致的。
　　约翰．达什伍德一走出房，玛丽安便气得大发雷霆，而她的发作又使埃丽诺不可能保持缄默，使詹宁斯太太没必要保持缄默，于是她们三人联台起来，把那伙人狠批了一通。 　
  
回复 引用 新鲜事
顶端
narcis

ZxID：9184039

763474鲜花 75鸡蛋

等级: 派派版主
一二三四五六七~~~
举报 只看该作者 37楼  发表于: 2013-10-29 0
Chapter Thirty-six

Within a few days after this meeting, the newspapers announced to the world, that the lady of Thomas Palmer, Esq. was safely delivered of a son and heir; a very interesting and satisfactory paragraph, at least to all those intimate connections who knew it before.

This event, highly important to Mrs. Jennings's happiness, produced a temporary alteration in the disposal of her time, and influenced, in a like degree, the engagements of her young friends; for as she wished to be as much as possible with Charlotte, she went thither every morning as soon as she was dressed, and did not return till late in the evening; and the Miss Dashwoods, at the particular request of the Middletons, spent the whole of every day, in every day in Conduit Street. For their own comfort they would much rather have remained, at least all the morning, in Mrs. Jennings's house; but it was not a thing to be urged against the wishes of everybody. Their hours were therefore made over to Lady Middleton and the two Miss Steeles, by whom their company, in fact was as little valued, as it was professedly sought.

They had too much sense to be desirable companions to the former; and by the latter they were considered with a jealous eye, as intruding on THEIR ground, and sharing the kindness which they wanted to monopolize. Though nothing could be more polite than Lady Middleton's behaviour to Elinor and Marianne, she did not really like them at all. Because they neither flattered herself nor her children, she could not believe them good-natured; and because they were fond of reading, she fancied them satirical: perhaps without exactly knowing what it was to be satirical; but THAT did not signify. It was censure in common use, and easily given.

Their presence was a restraint both on her and on Lucy. It checked the idleness of one, and the business of the other. Lady Middleton was ashamed of doing nothing before them, and the flattery which Lucy was proud to think of and administer at other times, she feared they would despise her for offering. Miss Steele was the least discomposed of the three, by their presence; and it was in their power to reconcile her to it entirely. Would either of them only have given her a full and minute account of the whole affair between Marianne and Mr. Willoughby, she would have thought herself amply rewarded for the sacrifice of the best place by the fire after dinner, which their arrival occasioned. But this conciliation was not granted; for though she often threw out expressions of pity for her sister to Elinor, and more than once dropt a reflection on the inconstancy of beaux before Marianne, no effect was produced, but a look of indifference from the former, or of disgust in the latter. An effort even yet lighter might have made her their friend. Would they only have laughed at her about the Doctor! But so little were they, anymore than the others, inclined to oblige her, that if Sir John dined from home, she might spend a whole day without hearing any other raillery on the subject, than what she was kind enough to bestow on herself.

All these jealousies and discontents, however, were so totally unsuspected by Mrs. Jennings, that she thought it a delightful thing for the girls to be together; and generally congratulated her young friends every night, on having escaped the company of a stupid old woman so long. She joined them sometimes at Sir John's, sometimes at her own house; but wherever it was, she always came in excellent spirits, full of delight and importance, attributing Charlotte's well doing to her own care, and ready to give so exact, so minute a detail of her situation, as only Miss Steele had curiosity enough to desire. One thing did disturb her; and of that she made her daily complaint. Mr. Palmer maintained the common, but unfatherly opinion among his sex, of all infants being alike; and though she could plainly perceive, at different times, the most striking resemblance between this baby and every one of his relations on both sides, there was no convincing his father of it; no persuading him to believe that it was not exactly like every other baby of the same age; nor could he even be brought to acknowledge the simple proposition of its being the finest child in the world.

I come now to the relation of a misfortune, which about this time befell Mrs. John Dashwood. It so happened that while her two sisters with Mrs. Jennings were first calling on her in Harley Street, another of her acquaintance had dropt in—a circumstance in itself not apparently likely to produce evil to her. But while the imaginations of other people will carry them away to form wrong judgments of our conduct, and to decide on it by slight appearances, one's happiness must in some measure be always at the mercy of chance. In the present instance, this last-arrived lady allowed her fancy to so far outrun truth and probability, that on merely hearing the name of the Miss Dashwoods, and understanding them to be Mr. Dashwood's sisters, she immediately concluded them to be staying in Harley Street; and this misconstruction produced within a day or two afterwards, cards of invitation for them as well as for their brother and sister, to a small musical party at her house. The consequence of which was, that Mrs. John Dashwood was obliged to submit not only to the exceedingly great inconvenience of sending her carriage for the Miss Dashwoods, but, what was still worse, must be subject to all the unpleasantness of appearing to treat them with attention: and who could tell that they might not expect to go out with her a second time? The power of disappointing them, it was true, must always be her's. But that was not enough; for when people are determined on a mode of conduct which they know to be wrong, they feel injured by the expectation of any thing better from them.

Marianne had now been brought by degrees, so much into the habit of going out every day, that it was become a matter of indifference to her, whether she went or not: and she prepared quietly and mechanically for every evening's engagement, though without expecting the smallest amusement from any, and very often without knowing, till the last moment, where it was to take her.

To her dress and appearance she was grown so perfectly indifferent, as not to bestow half the consideration on it, during the whole of her toilet, which it received from Miss Steele in the first five minutes of their being together, when it was finished. Nothing escaped HER minute observation and general curiosity; she saw every thing, and asked every thing; was never easy till she knew the price of every part of Marianne's dress; could have guessed the number of her gowns altogether with better judgment than Marianne herself, and was not without hopes of finding out before they parted, how much her washing cost per week, and how much she had every year to spend upon herself. The impertinence of these kind of scrutinies, moreover, was generally concluded with a compliment, which though meant as its douceur, was considered by Marianne as the greatest impertinence of all; for after undergoing an examination into the value and make of her gown, the colour of her shoes, and the arrangement of her hair, she was almost sure of being told that upon "her word she looked vastly smart, and she dared to say she would make a great many conquests."

With such encouragement as this, was she dismissed on the present occasion, to her brother's carriage; which they were ready to enter five minutes after it stopped at the door, a punctuality not very agreeable to their sister-in-law, who had preceded them to the house of her acquaintance, and was there hoping for some delay on their part that might inconvenience either herself or her coachman.

The events of this evening were not very remarkable. The party, like other musical parties, comprehended a great many people who had real taste for the performance, and a great many more who had none at all; and the performers themselves were, as usual, in their own estimation, and that of their immediate friends, the first private performers in England.

As Elinor was neither musical, nor affecting to be so, she made no scruple of turning her eyes from the grand pianoforte, whenever it suited her, and unrestrained even by the presence of a harp, and violoncello, would fix them at pleasure on any other object in the room. In one of these excursive glances she perceived among a group of young men, the very he, who had given them a lecture on toothpick-cases at Gray's. She perceived him soon afterwards looking at herself, and speaking familiarly to her brother; and had just determined to find out his name from the latter, when they both came towards her, and Mr. Dashwood introduced him to her as Mr. Robert Ferrars.

He addressed her with easy civility, and twisted his head into a bow which assured her as plainly as words could have done, that he was exactly the coxcomb she had heard him described to be by Lucy. Happy had it been for her, if her regard for Edward had depended less on his own merit, than on the merit of his nearest relations! For then his brother's bow must have given the finishing stroke to what the ill-humour of his mother and sister would have begun. But while she wondered at the difference of the two young men, she did not find that the emptiness of conceit of the one, put her out of all charity with the modesty and worth of the other. Why they were different, Robert exclaimed to her himself in the course of a quarter of an hour's conversation; for, talking of his brother, and lamenting the extreme gaucherie which he really believed kept him from mixing in proper society, he candidly and generously attributed it much less to any natural deficiency, than to the misfortune of a private education; while he himself, though probably without any particular, any material superiority by nature, merely from the advantage of a public school, was as well fitted to mix in the world as any other man.

"Upon my soul," he added, "I believe it is nothing more; and so I often tell my mother, when she is grieving about it. 'My dear Madam,' I always say to her, 'you must make yourself easy. The evil is now irremediable, and it has been entirely your own doing. Why would you be persuaded by my uncle, Sir Robert, against your own judgment, to place Edward under private tuition, at the most critical time of his life? If you had only sent him to Westminster as well as myself, instead of sending him to Mr. Pratt's, all this would have been prevented.' This is the way in which I always consider the matter, and my mother is perfectly convinced of her error."

Elinor would not oppose his opinion, because, whatever might be her general estimation of the advantage of a public school, she could not think of Edward's abode in Mr. Pratt's family, with any satisfaction.

"You reside in Devonshire, I think,"—was his next observation, "in a cottage near Dawlish."

Elinor set him right as to its situation; and it seemed rather surprising to him that anybody could live in Devonshire, without living near Dawlish. He bestowed his hearty approbation however on their species of house.

"For my own part," said he, "I am excessively fond of a cottage; there is always so much comfort, so much elegance about them. And I protest, if I had any money to spare, I should buy a little land and build one myself, within a short distance of London, where I might drive myself down at any time, and collect a few friends about me, and be happy. I advise every body who is going to build, to build a cottage. My friend Lord Courtland came to me the other day on purpose to ask my advice, and laid before me three different plans of Bonomi's. I was to decide on the best of them. 'My dear Courtland,' said I, immediately throwing them all into the fire, 'do not adopt either of them, but by all means build a cottage.' And that I fancy, will be the end of it.

"Some people imagine that there can be no accommodations, no space in a cottage; but this is all a mistake. I was last month at my friend Elliott's, near Dartford. Lady Elliott wished to give a dance. 'But how can it be done?' said she; 'my dear Ferrars, do tell me how it is to be managed. There is not a room in this cottage that will hold ten couple, and where can the supper be?' I immediately saw that there could be no difficulty in it, so I said, 'My dear Lady Elliott, do not be uneasy. The dining parlour will admit eighteen couple with ease; card-tables may be placed in the drawing-room; the library may be open for tea and other refreshments; and let the supper be set out in the saloon.' Lady Elliott was delighted with the thought. We measured the dining-room, and found it would hold exactly eighteen couple, and the affair was arranged precisely after my plan. So that, in fact, you see, if people do but know how to set about it, every comfort may be as well enjoyed in a cottage as in the most spacious dwelling."

Elinor agreed to it all, for she did not think he deserved the compliment of rational opposition.

As John Dashwood had no more pleasure in music than his eldest sister, his mind was equally at liberty to fix on any thing else; and a thought struck him during the evening, which he communicated to his wife, for her approbation, when they got home. The consideration of Mrs. Dennison's mistake, in supposing his sisters their guests, had suggested the propriety of their being really invited to become such, while Mrs. Jenning's engagements kept her from home. The expense would be nothing, the inconvenience not more; and it was altogether an attention which the delicacy of his conscience pointed out to be requisite to its complete enfranchisement from his promise to his father. Fanny was startled at the proposal.

"I do not see how it can be done," said she, "without affronting Lady Middleton, for they spend every day with her; otherwise I should be exceedingly glad to do it. You know I am always ready to pay them any attention in my power, as my taking them out this evening shews. But they are Lady Middleton's visitors. How can I ask them away from her?"

Her husband, but with great humility, did not see the force of her objection. "They had already spent a week in this manner in Conduit Street, and Lady Middleton could not be displeased at their giving the same number of days to such near relations."

Fanny paused a moment, and then, with fresh vigor, said,

"My love I would ask them with all my heart, if it was in my power. But I had just settled within myself to ask the Miss Steeles to spend a few days with us. They are very well behaved, good kind of girls; and I think the attention is due to them, as their uncle did so very well by Edward. We can ask your sisters some other year, you know; but the Miss Steeles may not be in town any more. I am sure you will like them; indeed, you DO like them, you know, very much already, and so does my mother; and they are such favourites with Harry!"

Mr. Dashwood was convinced. He saw the necessity of inviting the Miss Steeles immediately, and his conscience was pacified by the resolution of inviting his sisters another year; at the same time, however, slyly suspecting that another year would make the invitation needless, by bringing Elinor to town as Colonel Brandon's wife, and Marianne as THEIR visitor.

Fanny, rejoicing in her escape, and proud of the ready wit that had procured it, wrote the next morning to Lucy, to request her company and her sister's, for some days, in Harley Street, as soon as Lady Middleton could spare them. This was enough to make Lucy really and reasonably happy. Mrs. Dashwood seemed actually working for her, herself; cherishing all her hopes, and promoting all her views! Such an opportunity of being with Edward and his family was, above all things, the most material to her interest, and such an invitation the most gratifying to her feelings! It was an advantage that could not be too gratefully acknowledged, nor too speedily made use of; and the visit to Lady Middleton, which had not before had any precise limits, was instantly discovered to have been always meant to end in two days' time.

When the note was shown to Elinor, as it was within ten minutes after its arrival, it gave her, for the first time, some share in the expectations of Lucy; for such a mark of uncommon kindness, vouchsafed on so short an acquaintance, seemed to declare that the good-will towards her arose from something more than merely malice against herself; and might be brought, by time and address, to do every thing that Lucy wished. Her flattery had already subdued the pride of Lady Middleton, and made an entry into the close heart of Mrs. John Dashwood; and these were effects that laid open the probability of greater.

The Miss Steeles removed to Harley Street, and all that reached Elinor of their influence there, strengthened her expectation of the event. Sir John, who called on them more than once, brought home such accounts of the favour they were in, as must be universally striking. Mrs. Dashwood had never been so much pleased with any young women in her life, as she was with them; had given each of them a needle book made by some emigrant; called Lucy by her Christian name; and did not know whether she should ever be able to part with them.



　　就在这次会面后不几天，报上登出了这样一条消息：托马斯．帕尔默先生的太太平安生下一个儿子兼继承人。这是一条令人感兴趣的、令人满意的新闻，至少那些事先了解情况的至亲都是这么认为的。
　　这件事意义重大，关系到詹宁斯太太的幸福，因而促使她暂时改变了她的时间安排，同样也影响到她的年轻朋友们的活动安排。这位太太希望尽可能地同夏洛特呆在一起，因此每天早晨一穿好衣服便过去了，晚上直到很晚才回来。达什伍德家两位小姐经米德尔顿夫妇特意要求，只好整日整日地在康迪特街度过。就舒适而言，她们还是宁愿呆在詹宁斯太太家里，至少愿意整个上午能够如此。但是她们又不便违背众人的愿望，硬是提出这样的要求。因此，她俩的时间就转而泡在米德尔顿夫人和斯蒂尔妹妹身上。其实，她们虽然嘴上说要找她俩作伴，实际上并不欢迎她们。
　　达什伍德家小姐都是很有头脑的人，不可能成为米德尔顿夫人的理想伙伴。而两位斯蒂尔小姐更以嫉妒的目光看待她们，认为她俩闯入了她们的地盘，分享着她们本想独享的盛情厚意。虽说米德尔顿夫人对待埃丽诺和玛丽安是再客气不过了，但她绝非真正喜欢她们。正因为她们既不阿谀她本人，又不奉承她的孩子，她便无法认为她们和蔼可亲。又因为她们喜欢看书，她便认为她们爱挖苦人。也许她并不知道挖苦是什么意思，不过那不要紧。这是大家动不动就搬出来的常用的指责语。
　　她们的出现对她和露西都是约束，既限制了一方的游手好闲，又限制了另一方的极尽所能。米德尔顿夫人当着她们的面什么事情也不干，未免觉得有些羞愧。而露西在别的时候，无论在思想上还是行动上都以阿谀奉承为能事，现在却担心她们因此而瞧不起她。这三个人中，对达什伍德家小姐的到来最不感到烦恼的，是斯蒂尔小姐。她们完全有能力与她和睦相处。晚饭后，一见她们进来，她就把火炉前的最好位置让了出来。她们两人只要有一位能向她详细介绍一下玛丽安与威洛比先生之间的整个恋爱史，她便会觉得这位置没有白让，得到了充分的报偿。但是，这种和睦现象并非毫无问题；虽然她经常向埃丽诺表示对她妹妹的同情，并且不止一次地在玛丽安面前流露过对于男人反复无常的责难，但是这除了惹得埃丽诺露出漠然的神情，玛丽安露出憎恶的神色之外，别无其他效果。她们哪怕稍微作出一点努力，她也会成为她们的朋友。她们只要拿博士开开她的玩笑就足够啦！谁想她们与别人一样，根本不想满足她的愿望。因此，如果约翰爵士外出，不在家吃饭，那她整天都听不到别人用这件事戏弄她，她只好进行自我嘲弄。
　　不过，这些妒忌和不满全然没有引起詹宁斯太太的猜疑，她只觉得姑娘们呆在一块是件令人愉快的事情。每天晚上都要祝贺她的年轻朋友们能避开她这傻老婆子，清闲了这么长时间。她有时到约翰爵士家，有时在自己家里，跟她们呆在一起。然而不管在哪儿，她总是精神焕发，兴高采烈，神气十足。她把夏洛特的顺利恢复归功于她自己的精心照料，她很想详细准确地叙说一下她的情况，可惜愿意听的只有斯蒂尔小姐一个人。有一桩事确实引起了她的不安，为此她天天都要抱怨几句。帕尔默先生坚持他们男人的一个共同观点，认为所有的婴儿都是一个样，真不像个做父亲的。虽然詹宁斯太太在不同时候能觉察这小家伙同他父母双方的个个亲戚都酷似，她却无法让他父亲接受这一看法。她无法使他相信，这小家伙和同他一般大小的其他小孩不尽相同；甚至也无法叫他认可这样一个简单的意见，即这小家伙是天下最漂亮的孩子。
　　大约就在这个时候，约翰．达什伍德夫人遇到了一件不幸的事情，我现在要来叙述一下。原来，就在她的两个小姑伙同詹宁斯太太头一次来哈利街拜访她时，又有一个朋友也顺便来访———这件事情本身倒不见得会给她带来不幸。但是有入会想人非非地对别人的行为得出错误的看法，凭着一鳞半爪的现象来判断是非。这样一来，人们的幸福在一定程度上总是要听任命运的摆布。且说目前，最后到来的这位太太，她的想象完全超出事实和可能的界限，刚一听到两位达什伍德小姐的名字，知道他们是达什伍德夫人的小姑，便立即断定她们眼下住在哈利街。由于有这样的误解，她一两天后便发来请帖，邀请她俩及其哥嫂到她府上参加一个小型音乐会。其结果，不仅给约翰．达什伍德夫人带来了极大的不便，只得派车去接达什伍德家两妹妹，而且更糟糕的是，她还必须显得对她们关心备至，真叫她满肚子不高兴。谁敢说她们就不期待第二次同她一道出去活动？确实，她随时都有权力拒绝她们。但是那还不够，因为人们一旦认定了一种他们明知不对的行动方式时，你再想让他们采取正确的行动，那他们会恼羞成怒的。
　　对于每天出去践约，玛丽安已经渐渐习以为常了，因而她是不是出去也就无所谓了。她默默而机械地为每天晚上赴约做着准备工作，虽然她并不期望从中得到一丝一毫的乐趣，而且往往是直到最后时刻才知道要被带到哪里去。
　　玛丽安对自己的衣着打扮已经变得满不在乎了，随随便便地梳妆一下，等斯蒂尔小姐进来，难免引起她的注意。相比之下，玛丽安整个梳妆时间花费的精力，还顶不上斯蒂尔小姐进来后五分钟里斟酌玛丽安的衣着所付出精力的一半。她观察得细致入微，对什么都很好奇，无所不见，无所不问，不弄清玛丽安每件衣服的价钱，决不罢休。她可以猜出玛丽安总共有多少件外衣，而且比玛丽安自己判断得还准确。分手前，她甚至还有希望发现玛丽安每周洗衣服要花多少钱，每年在自己身上耗费多少钱。另外，她发出这种不礼貌的盘问，最后还总要奉承两句。虽说她是一番好意，但玛丽安却认为这比什么都不礼貌；因为她仔细调查了她外衣的价格和式样、鞋子的颜色和发式之后，近乎肯定地对她说：“说实话，你看上去漂亮极了，肯定会征服不少男人。”
　　听了这番鼓励，玛丽安便辞别斯蒂尔小姐，下去乘坐她哥哥的马车。马车停到门口才五分钟，她们便已准备就绪。其实，她们的嫂嫂并不喜欢她们这么守时，因为她赶在她们前头先来到朋友家里，一心希望她们能耽搁一下。这也许会给马车夫带来些不便；但准时赶到却会给她自己带来不便。
　　晚上的活动并不十分精彩。同其他音乐会一样，到会的有不少人对演出确有欣赏能力，还有不少人根本是一窍不通。而那些表演者却像往常一样，被他们自己和他们的亲友视为英国第一流的民间表演家。
　　埃丽诺不喜欢音乐，也不假装喜欢，她的目光可以毫无顾忌地随意离开大钢琴，即使竖琴和大提琴，对她也毫无约束，室内的目标她爱看什么就看什么。她东张西望的时候，从那伙年轻小伙子里发现了一个人，就是他，曾经在格雷商店向她们讲解过牙签盒。转眼间，埃丽诺察觉他正在望着自己，而且正在亲切地同她哥哥说话。她刚想问问哥哥他叫什么名字，不料他俩一齐朝她走来。达什伍德先生向她介绍说：他是罗伯特．费拉斯先生。
　　他同埃丽诺说话的时候，显得既客气又随便，脑袋一歪鞠了个躬，像言语一样清楚地向她表明：他就是露西对她描绘过的那个花花公子。她当初喜欢爱德华假如不是看他人品好，而是看在他至亲的份上，那她该大为庆幸了。本来他母亲和姐姐的乖戾脾气已经引起了她的反感，现在他弟弟的这一鞠躬却把这种反感推向了顶点。然而，当她对这两位年轻人的如此不同感到诧异时，她并没有因为一方的愚昧自负，而失去对另一方的谦逊高尚的好感。他俩为什么会如此窘然不同，罗伯特在一次一刻钟的攀谈中亲自向她作了解释。他一说起他哥哥，便对他的极端不善交际感到惋惜，认为这确实妨碍了他与正经人的交往。他还坦率大方地将这一点归咎于不幸的私人教育，而不是归咎于天赋之不足。至于他自己，虽说天赋不见得特别优越，但是由于沾了上公学的便宜，结果与人交往起来比任何人都得心应手。
　　“说实在话，”他接着说道，“我认为这也没有什么大不了的。我母亲为此难过的时候，我常对她这么说。‘我亲爱的母亲，’我总是这么对她说，‘你要放宽心。这种不幸是无可挽回的，而且都怪你自己不好。你为什么不坚持自己的意见，却偏要听信我舅舅罗伯特爵士的话，让爱德华在他一生最关键的时候去接受私人教育？你当初只要把他像我一样送进威斯敏斯特公学，而不是送到普赖特先生家里，那么这一切都可以避免。’这就是我对这件事的一贯看法，我母亲已经完全认识了她的过错。”
　　埃丽诺不想同他分辩，因为不管她对公学的忧点有些什么看法，她一想到爱德华住在普赖特家里，终究很难感到满意。
　　“我想你是住在德文郡，”罗伯特接下去说道，“道利希附近的一幢乡舍里。”
　　埃丽诺纠正了他说的位置，这似乎使他感到很奇怪：有人居然住在德文郡而不靠近道利希。不过，他对她们的那种房子还是给予充分的肯定。
　　“就我本人来说，”他说，“我极其喜欢乡舍。这种房子总是那样舒适，那样幽雅。我担保，假如我有多余的钱，我就在离伦敦不远的地方买块地皮，自己造座乡舍，随时可以乘车出城，找几个朋友娱乐一番。我劝那些要盖房子的人都盖座乡舍。那天，我的朋友考特兰勋爵特意跑来征求我的意见，将博诺米给他画的三份图样摆在我面前，要我确定哪一份最好。我一把将那些设计图全都抛进了火里，然后说道：‘我亲爱的考特兰，你哪一份也别用，无论如何要建座乡舍。’我想事情就是这么个结局。
　　有些人认为乡舍地方小，条件差，这就大错特错啦。上个月，我住在我的朋友爱略特家里，就在达特福德附近。爱略特夫人想举行一次舞会。‘可是怎么办呢？’她说。‘我亲爱的费拉斯，请你告诉我该怎么办呀。这座乡舍里没有一个房间能容得下十对舞伴，晚饭又在哪里吃？’我倒马上发现这没有什么难处，于是便说：‘我亲爱的爱略特夫人，你不用犯难。餐厅能宽宽裕裕地容得下十八对舞伴；牌桌可以摆在客厅里；书房可以用来吃茶点；晚饭就在会客室里吃。’爱略特夫人听了这个意见非常高兴。我们量了一下餐厅，发现恰好能容纳十八对舞伴，事情完全按照我的设想作了安排。所以嘛，你瞧，只要人们知道如何筹划，住在乡舍里同住在最宽敞的住宅里一样，什么舒适条件都能享受得到。”
　　埃丽诺对此一概表示同意，她认为她犯不着去据理反驳，罗伯特不配受到这样的抬举。
　　约翰．达什伍德同他大妹妹一样不喜爱音乐，因而思想也在随意开小差。他晚会期间想到一个主意，回到家里说给妻子听，征求她的同意。鉴于丹尼森太太误以为他妹妹在他家里作客，他应该趁詹宁斯太太出去忙碌的时候，确实请她们来家作客。花销微乎其微，也不会带来什么不便；他是个很有良心的人，为了彻底履行他对先父的诺言，完全有必要关照她们。范妮听到这个建议，不禁大吃一惊。
　　“我真不知道，”她说，“你这样做怎么能不使米德尔顿夫人难堪，因为她们天天都跟她呆在一起。不然的话，我也会很乐意这么办的。你知道，我总是愿意尽力关照她们，正像我今天晚上带她们出去所表明的那样。不过，她们是米德尔顿夫人的客人，我怎么能把她们从她身边抢走呢？”
　　她丈夫看不出她的反对意见有什么说服力，不过对她还是十分谦恭。“她们已经在康迪特街住了一个星期，再到我们这样的近亲家住上同样的天数，米德尔顿夫人不会不高兴的。”
　　范妮停顿了一会儿，然后又重新打起精神，说：
　　“亲爱的，要是办得到的话，我一定诚心诚意地请她们来。可是，我心里刚刚打定主意，想让两位斯蒂尔小姐来住几天。她们是规规矩矩的好姑娘。再说她们的舅舅待爱德华那么好，我觉得也该款待款待她们。你知道，我们可以改年再请你妹妹来。而斯蒂尔姐妹俩可能不会再进城了。你一定会喜欢她们的。其实，你知道，你已经非常喜欢她们了，我母亲也很喜欢她们，而且哈里又那样特别喜爱她们。”
　　达什伍德先生被说服了。他觉得有必要马上邀请两位斯蒂尔小姐，而改年再邀请他妹妹的决定则使他的良心得到了安慰。不过在这同时，他又暗中怀疑：再过一年就没有必要去邀请她们进城了，因为到那时候埃丽诺已经成了布兰登上校的夫人，玛丽安成了他们的座上客。
　　达什伍德夫人为自己避开了这场麻烦而感到欣喜，她还为自己的急中生智感到自豪。第二天早晨，她给露西写信，要求她和她姐姐在米德尔顿夫人肯放手的时候，马上来哈利街住上几天。这理所当然地使露西感到十分高兴。达什伍德夫人似乎在亲自为她操心，真是急她所急，想她所想！能有这样的机会同爱德华及其家人呆在一起，这对她比什么事情都至关紧要，这样的邀请比什么都使她感到心满意足！这真是一件叫她感激不尽、急不可待的大好事。却说她在米德尔顿夫人家作客本来并没有明确的期限，现在却突然发现，她早就打算住上两天就走似的。
　　露西收到信不过十分钟，就拿来给埃丽诺看。看完后，埃丽诺第一次感到露西还真有几分希望。才相识这么几天，就得到如此异乎寻常的厚爱。这似乎表明：对她的这番好意并非完全起源于对她自己的恶意，时间一久，说话投契了，露西就能万事如意。她的阿谀奉承已经征服了米德尔顿夫人的傲慢，打通了约翰．达什伍德夫人紧锁的心房。这些成果揭开了取得更大成功的序幕。
　　两位斯蒂尔小姐搬到了哈利街，她们在那里非常吃香。消息传到埃丽诺耳朵里，进一步增强了她对事情的期待感。约翰爵士不止一次地去拜访过斯蒂尔妹妹，回到家里详细描绘了她们如何受宠的情况，谁听了都觉得了不起。达什伍德夫人平生从来没有像喜欢她们那样喜欢过任何年轻女子。她送给她们一人一只针肃盒，那是一位移民制作的。她直接称呼露西的教名。不知道她将来能不能舍得放她们走。 　



Volume II ends

  
[ 此帖被narcis在2013-10-29 04:21重新编辑 ]
回复 引用 新鲜事
顶端
narcis

ZxID：9184039

763474鲜花 75鸡蛋

等级: 派派版主
一二三四五六七~~~
举报 只看该作者 36楼  发表于: 2013-10-29 0
Chapter Thirty-five

Elinor's curiosity to see Mrs. Ferrars was satisfied.— She had found in her every thing that could tend to make a farther connection between the families undesirable.— She had seen enough of her pride, her meanness, and her determined prejudice against herself, to comprehend all the difficulties that must have perplexed the engagement, and retarded the marriage, of Edward and herself, had he been otherwise free;—and she had seen almost enough to be thankful for her own sake, that one greater obstacle preserved her from suffering under any other of Mrs. Ferrars's creation, preserved her from all dependence upon her caprice, or any solicitude for her good opinion. Or at least, if she did not bring herself quite to rejoice in Edward's being fettered to Lucy, she determined, that had Lucy been more amiable, she ought to have rejoiced.

She wondered that Lucy's spirits could be so very much elevated by the civility of Mrs. Ferrars;—that her interest and her vanity should so very much blind her as to make the attention which seemed only paid her because she was not Elinor, appear a compliment to herself—or to allow her to derive encouragement from a preference only given her, because her real situation was unknown. But that it was so, had not only been declared by Lucy's eyes at the time, but was declared over again the next morning more openly, for at her particular desire, Lady Middleton set her down in Berkeley Street on the chance of seeing Elinor alone, to tell her how happy she was.

The chance proved a lucky one, for a message from Mrs. Palmer soon after she arrived, carried Mrs. Jennings away.

"My dear friend," cried Lucy, as soon as they were by themselves, "I come to talk to you of my happiness. Could anything be so flattering as Mrs. Ferrars's way of treating me yesterday? So exceeding affable as she was!—You know how I dreaded the thoughts of seeing her;—but the very moment I was introduced, there was such an affability in her behaviour as really should seem to say, she had quite took a fancy to me. Now was not it so?— You saw it all; and was not you quite struck with it?"

"She was certainly very civil to you."

"Civil!—Did you see nothing but only civility?— I saw a vast deal more. Such kindness as fell to the share of nobody but me!—No pride, no hauteur, and your sister just the same—all sweetness and affability!"

Elinor wished to talk of something else, but Lucy still pressed her to own that she had reason for her happiness; and Elinor was obliged to go on.—

"Undoubtedly, if they had known your engagement," said she, "nothing could be more flattering than their treatment of you;—but as that was not the case"—

"I guessed you would say so"—replied Lucy quickly—"but there was no reason in the world why Mrs. Ferrars should seem to like me, if she did not, and her liking me is every thing. You shan't talk me out of my satisfaction. I am sure it will all end well, and there will be no difficulties at all, to what I used to think. Mrs. Ferrars is a charming woman, and so is your sister. They are both delightful women, indeed!—I wonder I should never hear you say how agreeable Mrs. Dashwood was!"

To this Elinor had no answer to make, and did not attempt any.

"Are you ill, Miss Dashwood?—you seem low—you don't speak;—sure you an't well."

"I never was in better health."

"I am glad of it with all my heart; but really you did not look it. I should be sorry to have you ill; you, that have been the greatest comfort to me in the world!—Heaven knows what I should have done without your friendship."—

Elinor tried to make a civil answer, though doubting her own success. But it seemed to satisfy Lucy, for she directly replied,

"Indeed I am perfectly convinced of your regard for me, and next to Edward's love, it is the greatest comfort I have.—Poor Edward!—But now there is one good thing, we shall be able to meet, and meet pretty often, for Lady Middleton's delighted with Mrs. Dashwood, so we shall be a good deal in Harley Street, I dare say, and Edward spends half his time with his sister—besides, Lady Middleton and Mrs. Ferrars will visit now;—and Mrs. Ferrars and your sister were both so good to say more than once, they should always be glad to see me.— They are such charming women!—I am sure if ever you tell your sister what I think of her, you cannot speak too high."

But Elinor would not give her any encouragement to hope that she should tell her sister. Lucy continued.

"I am sure I should have seen it in a moment, if Mrs. Ferrars had took a dislike to me. If she had only made me a formal courtesy, for instance, without saying a word, and never after had took any notice of me, and never looked at me in a pleasant way—you know what I mean—if I had been treated in that forbidding sort of way, I should have gave it all up in despair. I could not have stood it. For where she dose dislike, I know it is most violent."

Elinor was prevented from making any reply to this civil triumph, by the door's being thrown open, the servant's announcing Mr. Ferrars, and Edward's immediately walking in.

It was a very awkward moment; and the countenance of each shewed that it was so. They all looked exceedingly foolish; and Edward seemed to have as great an inclination to walk out of the room again, as to advance farther into it. The very circumstance, in its unpleasantest form, which they would each have been most anxious to avoid, had fallen on them.—They were not only all three together, but were together without the relief of any other person. The ladies recovered themselves first. It was not Lucy's business to put herself forward, and the appearance of secrecy must still be kept up. She could therefore only look her tenderness, and after slightly addressing him, said no more.

But Elinor had more to do; and so anxious was she, for his sake and her own, to do it well, that she forced herself, after a moment's recollection, to welcome him, with a look and manner that were almost easy, and almost open; and another struggle, another effort still improved them. She would not allow the presence of Lucy, nor the consciousness of some injustice towards herself, to deter her from saying that she was happy to see him, and that she had very much regretted being from home, when he called before in Berkeley Street. She would not be frightened from paying him those attentions which, as a friend and almost a relation, were his due, by the observant eyes of Lucy, though she soon perceived them to be narrowly watching her.

Her manners gave some re-assurance to Edward, and he had courage enough to sit down; but his embarrassment still exceeded that of the ladies in a proportion, which the case rendered reasonable, though his sex might make it rare; for his heart had not the indifference of Lucy's, nor could his conscience have quite the ease of Elinor's.

Lucy, with a demure and settled air, seemed determined to make no contribution to the comfort of the others, and would not say a word; and almost every thing that WAS said, proceeded from Elinor, who was obliged to volunteer all the information about her mother's health, their coming to town, &c. which Edward ought to have inquired about, but never did.

Her exertions did not stop here; for she soon afterwards felt herself so heroically disposed as to determine, under pretence of fetching Marianne, to leave the others by themselves; and she really did it, and THAT in the handsomest manner, for she loitered away several minutes on the landing-place, with the most high-minded fortitude, before she went to her sister. When that was once done, however, it was time for the raptures of Edward to cease; for Marianne's joy hurried her into the drawing-room immediately. Her pleasure in seeing him was like every other of her feelings, strong in itself, and strongly spoken. She met him with a hand that would be taken, and a voice that expressed the affection of a sister.

"Dear Edward!" she cried, "this is a moment of great happiness!—This would almost make amends for every thing?"

Edward tried to return her kindness as it deserved, but before such witnesses he dared not say half what he really felt. Again they all sat down, and for a moment or two all were silent; while Marianne was looking with the most speaking tenderness, sometimes at Edward and sometimes at Elinor, regretting only that their delight in each other should be checked by Lucy's unwelcome presence. Edward was the first to speak, and it was to notice Marianne's altered looks, and express his fear of her not finding London agree with her.

"Oh, don't think of me!" she replied with spirited earnestness, though her eyes were filled with tears as she spoke, "don't think of MY health. Elinor is well, you see. That must be enough for us both."

This remark was not calculated to make Edward or Elinor more easy, nor to conciliate the good will of Lucy, who looked up at Marianne with no very benignant expression.

"Do you like London?" said Edward, willing to say any thing that might introduce another subject.

"Not at all. I expected much pleasure in it, but I have found none. The sight of you, Edward, is the only comfort it has afforded; and thank Heaven! you are what you always were!"

She paused—no one spoke.

"I think, Elinor," she presently added, "we must employ Edward to take care of us in our return to Barton. In a week or two, I suppose, we shall be going; and, I trust, Edward will not be very unwilling to accept the charge."

Poor Edward muttered something, but what it was, nobody knew, not even himself. But Marianne, who saw his agitation, and could easily trace it to whatever cause best pleased herself, was perfectly satisfied, and soon talked of something else.

"We spent such a day, Edward, in Harley Street yesterday! So dull, so wretchedly dull!—But I have much to say to you on that head, which cannot be said now."

And with this admirable discretion did she defer the assurance of her finding their mutual relatives more disagreeable than ever, and of her being particularly disgusted with his mother, till they were more in private.

"But why were you not there, Edward?—Why did you not come?"

"I was engaged elsewhere."

"Engaged! But what was that, when such friends were to be met?"

"Perhaps, Miss Marianne," cried Lucy, eager to take some revenge on her, "you think young men never stand upon engagements, if they have no mind to keep them, little as well as great."

Elinor was very angry, but Marianne seemed entirely insensible of the sting; for she calmly replied,

"Not so, indeed; for, seriously speaking, I am very sure that conscience only kept Edward from Harley Street. And I really believe he HAS the most delicate conscience in the world; the most scrupulous in performing every engagement, however minute, and however it may make against his interest or pleasure. He is the most fearful of giving pain, of wounding expectation, and the most incapable of being selfish, of any body I ever saw. Edward, it is so, and I will say it. What! are you never to hear yourself praised!—Then you must be no friend of mine; for those who will accept of my love and esteem, must submit to my open commendation."

The nature of her commendation, in the present case, however, happened to be particularly ill-suited to the feelings of two thirds of her auditors, and was so very unexhilarating to Edward, that he very soon got up to go away.

"Going so soon!" said Marianne; "my dear Edward, this must not be."

And drawing him a little aside, she whispered her persuasion that Lucy could not stay much longer. But even this encouragement failed, for he would go; and Lucy, who would have outstaid him, had his visit lasted two hours, soon afterwards went away.

"What can bring her here so often?" said Marianne, on her leaving them. "Could not she see that we wanted her gone!—how teazing to Edward!"

"Why so?—we were all his friends, and Lucy has been the longest known to him of any. It is but natural that he should like to see her as well as ourselves."

Marianne looked at her steadily, and said, "You know, Elinor, that this is a kind of talking which I cannot bear. If you only hope to have your assertion contradicted, as I must suppose to be the case, you ought to recollect that I am the last person in the world to do it. I cannot descend to be tricked out of assurances, that are not really wanted."

She then left the room; and Elinor dared not follow her to say more, for bound as she was by her promise of secrecy to Lucy, she could give no information that would convince Marianne; and painful as the consequences of her still continuing in an error might be, she was obliged to submit to it. All that she could hope, was that Edward would not often expose her or himself to the distress of hearing Marianne's mistaken warmth, nor to the repetition of any other part of the pain that had attended their recent meeting—and this she had every reason to expect.



　　埃丽诺想见见费拉斯太太的好奇心得到了满足。她发现她身上一无是处，在这种情况下两家再去攀亲，那是很不理想的。她看清了她的傲慢、自私和对她自己的顽固偏见，因而可以理解：即使爱德华不受约束地同她订了婚，那也一定会遇到重重困难，使他们迟迟不能结婚。她看得真切，几乎在为自己感到庆幸！由于遇到了一个较大的障碍，她可以免于遭遇费拉斯太太设置的任何其他障碍，可以免于忍受她那反复无常的脾性，免于费尽心机地去赢得她的好感。或者，如果说她对爱德华迷上露西还不能感到十分高兴的话，她至少可口断定：假如露西更加和蔼一些，她本应感到高兴的。
　　使她感到惊奇的是，费拉斯太太一客气，居然使露西变得飘飘然起来。她利令智昏，自视甚高，殊不知费拉斯太太只不过因为她不是埃丽诺才对她青眼相加，而她却认为这是对她自己的赏识——本来费拉斯太太只因不了解她的真实底细才偏爱她，而她却从中大受鼓舞。露西的这种心情不仅从她当时的眼神里看得出来，而且第二天早晨还毫不隐讳地说了出来。原来，经她特意要求，米德尔顿夫人同意让她在伯克利街下车，也许会单独见见埃丽诺，告诉她她有多么高兴。
　　事情还真凑巧，她刚到不久，帕尔默夫人那里便来了封信，把詹宁斯太太请走了。
　　“我亲爱的朋友，”她们一剩下两个人，露西便嚷了起来，“我来跟你谈谈我的喜幸心情。费拉斯太太昨天那样厚待我，有什么事比这更今人愉快的呢？她多么和蔼可亲啊！你知道我原来多么害怕见到她，可是一当我被介绍给她，她的态度是那样和蔼可亲，似乎确实表明：她非常喜欢我。难道不是如此吗？你全都看见了，难道你不为之大受感动？”
　　“她当然对你非常客气。”
　　“客气！你只发现她很客气？我看远远不止于此．——除我之外，她对谁也没这么亲切啊！一不骄，二不傲，你嫂嫂也是如此——和蔼可亲极啦！”
　　埃丽诺很想谈点别的，可是露西硬要逼着她承认，她有理由感到幸福，于是埃丽诺不得不继续讲下去。
　　“毫无疑问，她们要是知道你俩订了婚，”她说，“再这样厚待你，那当然是再愉快不过啦！然而，情况并非如此—一”
　　“我早就猜到你会这么说，”露西急忙应答。“费拉斯太太若是不知道，她就决不会无缘无故地喜欢我——有她喜欢我，这比什么都重要。你休想劝说我转喜为悲。我知道事情一定会有个圆满的结局，我原先还顾虑重重，其实压根儿不会有什么困难。费拉斯太太是个可爱的女人，你嫂子也是如此。她们两人的确都很讨人喜欢！我很奇怪，怎么从没听你说过达什伍德夫人如何惹人爱呀！”
　　对此，埃丽诺无言可答，也不想回答。
　　“你有病吧，达什伍德小姐？你似乎情绪不高——连话都不说。你一定不舒服。”‘
　　“我从来没有这么健康过。”
　　“我从心里感到高兴，不过你的脸色的确不好。你若是真有病，我会感到很难过的——因为你给我带来了最大的安慰！要不是多亏了你的友情，天晓得我会怎么样。”
　　埃丽诺想给她个客气的回答，可又怀疑自己是否做得到。不过，露西倒似乎颇为得意，因为她又立即说道：
　　“的确，我完全相信你对我的深情厚谊。除了爱德华的爱，你的深情厚谊是我最大的安慰。可怜的爱德华！不过现在好了———我们能够见面啦，而且要经常见面，因为米德尔顿夫人很喜欢达什伍德夫人，这样一来，我们也许可以常去哈利街，爱德华可以有一半时间呆在他姐姐那里。何况，米德尔顿夫人和费拉斯太太也可以进行互访。费拉斯太太和你嫂嫂真好，她们不止一次地说过：什么时候都乐于见到我，她们多讨人喜欢啊！我相信，你若是告诉你嫂嫂我对她如何评价，那你说得再高都不会过份。”
　　但是，埃丽诺不想让她存有任何希望，认为她真会告诉她嫂嫂。露西接着说道：
　　“我知道，费拉斯太太若是真不喜欢我的话，我准能马上看得出来。比方说，假如她一声不吭，只是刻刻板极地给我鞠个躬，此后再也不理睬我，再也不和颜悦色地看我一眼——你知道我这是什么意思——假如我遭到如此可怕的冷遇，我早就死了这条心啦。那会叫我无法忍受的。我知道，她若是真的讨厌起谁来，那就是深恶痛绝啦。”
　　听了这席客客气气的得意之言，埃丽诺还没来得及作出回答，不料房门被推开了，只见仆人传报费拉斯先生驾到，随即爱德华便走了进来。
　　这是个令人非常尴尬的时刻，每个人的脸色表明，情况确实如此。一个个看上去呆痴痴的，爱德华似乎又想往里进，又想往外退。这种难堪的局面本是他们极力想避免的，现在却在所难逃了＿＿他们不仅三个人都碰到一起了，而且没有任何其他人帮助解围。两位小姐先恢复了镇定。露西不敢上前表示亲热，他们表面上还要保守秘密。因此，她只能用眼色传送柔情蜜意，嘴里刚与他寒暄了两句，便不再作声了。
　　不过，埃丽诺倒想多说几句，而且为了爱德华和她自己，还一心要处理得当一些。她稍许定了定神，硬是装出一副近乎坦率大方的神态，对他的到来表示欢迎，再经过一番努力，则显得更加神态自若了。尽管露西在场，尽管她知道自己受到了亏待，但她还是对他说：“见到他很高兴，他上次来伯克利街时，她不在家，很遗憾。”虽然她马上察觉露西那双锐利的眼睛正在直溜溜地盯着她，她却没有畏怯，本来就是朋友嘛，还多少算个亲戚，她还是对他以礼相待。
　　她的这般举止使爱德华消释了几分躁虑，鼓起勇气坐了下来。不过，他还是比两位小姐显得更窘些，这种情形对男子汉来说虽不多见，但具体到他，倒也合乎情理。因为他既不像露西那样毫不在乎，也不像埃丽诺那祥心安理得。
　　露西故意装出一副娴静自得的样子，好像决计不想给他们增添安慰似的，一句话也不肯说。真正说话的，几乎只埃丽诺一个人。什么她母亲的身体状况啊，她们如何来到城里啊，诸如这些情况爱德华本该主动问起的，但他并没这样做，埃丽诺只好主动介绍。
　　埃丽诺的一番苦心没有到此结束，不一会儿，她心里产生了一股豪情，便决定借口去喊玛丽安，将他们两人留在房里。她果真这么做了，而且做得极其大方，因为她怀着无比高尚的刚毅精神，在楼梯口盘桓了半天之后，才去叫她妹妹。可是一旦把妹妹请来，爱德华那种欣喜若狂的劲头也就得结束了。原来，玛丽安听说爱德华来了非常高兴，马上急急忙忙地跑到客厅。她一见到他高兴极了，就像她往常一样，感情充沛，言词热烈。她走上前去，伸出一只手让他握，说话声流露出做小姨子的深情厚意。
　　“亲爱的爱德华！”她大声嚷道，“这是大喜大庆的时刻！简直可以补偿一切损失！”
　　爱德华见玛丽安这么亲切，本想作出亲切的回应，但是面对着那两位目击者，他根本不敢说真心活。大家又重新坐下，默默无语地呆了一阵。这时，玛丽安脉脉含情地时而望望爱德华，时而瞧瞧埃丽诺，唯一感到遗憾的是，本来是皆大欢喜的事情，却让露西讨厌地夹在中间给搅坏了。爱德华第一个开口，他说玛丽安变样了，表示担心她过不惯伦敦的生活。
　　“噢！不要为我担心！”玛丽安兴奋而诚恳地应答，说话间，泪水涌进了眼眶。“不要担心我的身体。你瞧，埃丽诺不是好好的嘛。这就够使我们俩知足的了。”
　　这话不可能让爱德华和埃丽诺感到好受，也不可能博得露西的好感，只见她带着不很友好的表情，抬眼瞅着玛丽安。
　　“你喜欢伦敦吗？”爱德华说，他心想随便说点什么，把话头岔开。
　　“一点不喜欢。我原想来这里会其乐无穷的，结果什么乐趣也没有。现在见到你，爱德华，是伦敦给我带来的唯一的欣慰。谢天谢地！你还是老样子!”
　　她顿了顿——没有人作声。
　　“我看，埃丽诺，”她接着又说，“我们应该责成爱德华把我们送回巴顿。我想再过一两周，我们就该走了，我相信，爱德华不会不愿意接受这一托付吧。”
　　可怜的爱德华嘴里咕哝了一下，不过咕哝了什么，谁也不知道，就连他自己也不知道。玛丽安见他有些激动不安，很容易牵扯到最使她得意的原因上去，因而感到心满意足，马上就谈起了别的事情。
　　“爱德华，我们昨天在哈利街过得好窝囊啊：真没意思，无聊之极！不过，我在这一点上有好多话要对你说，只是现在不能说。”
　　她采取了如此令人钦佩的审慎态度，目前还不想告诉他：他们双方的那几位亲戚比以往任何时候都讨人嫌，特别是他的那位母亲尤其令人作呕。这些话只好等到他们单独在一起的时候再说。
　　“爱德华，你昨天为什么不在那里？你为什么不来呀，”
　　“我在别处有约会。”
　　“约会！有这样的朋友来相聚，你还会有什么约会呢？”
　　“也许，玛丽安小姐，”露西大声嚷道，她急切地想报复她一下，“你以为年轻人遇到大大小小的约会，一旦不对心思，就从不信守啊。”
　　埃丽诺顿感怒不可遏，然而玛丽安似乎全然觉不出她话里有刺，她心平气和地答道：
　　“我确实不这样认为。说正经的，我敢肯定，爱德华只是依照良心办事，才没去哈利街的。我确实认为．他是天下最有良心的人，每逢有约会，不管多么微不足道，不管多么违背他的兴致和乐趣，他总是谨慎小心地践约。他最怕给人带来痛苦，最伯使人感到失望，他是我见过的人中最不自私自利的人。爱德华，事实就是如此，我就是要这么说。什么！你不想听人表扬自己？那你一定不是我的朋友，因为凡是愿意接受我的友爱和敬意的人，必须接受我的公开赞扬。”
　　不过，听了她的这番赞扬，她的三分之二的听众心里觉得特别不是滋味，而爱德华更是大为不快，马上起身往外走去。
　　“这么快就走！”玛丽安说。“我亲爱的爱德华，这可不行呀：”
　　她把他拉到旁边一点，低声对他说：露西不会呆得很久。但是，她甚至这样鼓励也无济于事，因为他执意要走。本来，即使他呆上两个小时，露西也会奉陪到底的，现在见他走了，随后也接踵而去。
　　“她为什么老到这里来？”她一走，玛丽安便说道。“她难道后不出来我们要她走？真让爱德华哭笑不得！”
　　“这为什么？我们大家都是他的朋友，露西认识他的时间比谁都长，他想见见我们，自然也想见见她。”
　　玛丽安目不转睛地望着她，然后说：“你知道，埃丽诺，你这样说话真叫我受不了。我看你说这话是存心想叫别人反驳你，要真是这样的话，你应该记得，我是决不会这么干的。我不能上你的当，下作地说些毫无意义的废话。”
　　她说罢走出房去。埃丽诺不敢跟着她再说什么，因为她向露西保证过要保守秘密，她无法说出让玛丽安信服的情况。尽管这将错就错的后果是痛苦的，但她只得格守诺言。她只能希望，爱德华不要让她或他自己经常听见玛丽安信口开河地瞎说一通，也不要重新引起他们最近这次会见所招致的其他痛苦一一而这是她有充分理由加以期待的。 　
  
回复 引用 新鲜事
顶端
narcis

ZxID：9184039

763474鲜花 75鸡蛋

等级: 派派版主
一二三四五六七~~~
举报 只看该作者 35楼  发表于: 2013-10-29 0
Chapter Thirty-four

Mrs. John Dashwood had so much confidence in her husband's judgment, that she waited the very next day both on Mrs. Jennings and her daughter; and her confidence was rewarded by finding even the former, even the woman with whom her sisters were staying, by no means unworthy her notice; and as for Lady Middleton, she found her one of the most charming women in the world!

Lady Middleton was equally pleased with Mrs. Dashwood. There was a kind of cold hearted selfishness on both sides, which mutually attracted them; and they sympathised with each other in an insipid propriety of demeanor, and a general want of understanding.

The same manners, however, which recommended Mrs. John Dashwood to the good opinion of Lady Middleton did not suit the fancy of Mrs. Jennings, and to HER she appeared nothing more than a little proud-looking woman of uncordial address, who met her husband's sisters without any affection, and almost without having anything to say to them; for of the quarter of an hour bestowed on Berkeley Street, she sat at least seven minutes and a half in silence.

Elinor wanted very much to know, though she did not chuse to ask, whether Edward was then in town; but nothing would have induced Fanny voluntarily to mention his name before her, till able to tell her that his marriage with Miss Morton was resolved on, or till her husband's expectations on Colonel Brandon were answered; because she believed them still so very much attached to each other, that they could not be too sedulously divided in word and deed on every occasion. The intelligence however, which SHE would not give, soon flowed from another quarter. Lucy came very shortly to claim Elinor's compassion on being unable to see Edward, though he had arrived in town with Mr. and Mrs. Dashwood. He dared not come to Bartlett's Buildings for fear of detection, and though their mutual impatience to meet, was not to be told, they could do nothing at present but write.

Edward assured them himself of his being in town, within a very short time, by twice calling in Berkeley Street. Twice was his card found on the table, when they returned from their morning's engagements. Elinor was pleased that he had called; and still more pleased that she had missed him.

The Dashwoods were so prodigiously delighted with the Middletons, that, though not much in the habit of giving anything, they determined to give them—a dinner; and soon after their acquaintance began, invited them to dine in Harley Street, where they had taken a very good house for three months. Their sisters and Mrs. Jennings were invited likewise, and John Dashwood was careful to secure Colonel Brandon, who, always glad to be where the Miss Dashwoods were, received his eager civilities with some surprise, but much more pleasure. They were to meet Mrs. Ferrars; but Elinor could not learn whether her sons were to be of the party. The expectation of seeing HER, however, was enough to make her interested in the engagement; for though she could now meet Edward's mother without that strong anxiety which had once promised to attend such an introduction, though she could now see her with perfect indifference as to her opinion of herself, her desire of being in company with Mrs. Ferrars, her curiosity to know what she was like, was as lively as ever.

The interest with which she thus anticipated the party, was soon afterwards increased, more powerfully than pleasantly, by her hearing that the Miss Steeles were also to be at it.

So well had they recommended themselves to Lady Middleton, so agreeable had their assiduities made them to her, that though Lucy was certainly not so elegant, and her sister not even genteel, she was as ready as Sir John to ask them to spend a week or two in Conduit Street; and it happened to be particularly convenient to the Miss Steeles, as soon as the Dashwoods' invitation was known, that their visit should begin a few days before the party took place.

Their claims to the notice of Mrs. John Dashwood, as the nieces of the gentleman who for many years had had the care of her brother, might not have done much, however, towards procuring them seats at her table; but as Lady Middleton's guests they must be welcome; and Lucy, who had long wanted to be personally known to the family, to have a nearer view of their characters and her own difficulties, and to have an opportunity of endeavouring to please them, had seldom been happier in her life, than she was on receiving Mrs. John Dashwood's card.

On Elinor its effect was very different. She began immediately to determine, that Edward who lived with his mother, must be asked as his mother was, to a party given by his sister; and to see him for the first time, after all that passed, in the company of Lucy!—she hardly knew how she could bear it!

These apprehensions, perhaps, were not founded entirely on reason, and certainly not at all on truth. They were relieved however, not by her own recollection, but by the good will of Lucy, who believed herself to be inflicting a severe disappointment when she told her that Edward certainly would not be in Harley Street on Tuesday, and even hoped to be carrying the pain still farther by persuading her that he was kept away by the extreme affection for herself, which he could not conceal when they were together.

The important Tuesday came that was to introduce the two young ladies to this formidable mother-in-law.

"Pity me, dear Miss Dashwood!" said Lucy, as they walked up the stairs together—for the Middletons arrived so directly after Mrs. Jennings, that they all followed the servant at the same time—"There is nobody here but you, that can feel for me.—I declare I can hardly stand. Good gracious!—In a moment I shall see the person that all my happiness depends on—that is to be my mother!"—

Elinor could have given her immediate relief by suggesting the possibility of its being Miss Morton's mother, rather than her own, whom they were about to behold; but instead of doing that, she assured her, and with great sincerity, that she did pity her—to the utter amazement of Lucy, who, though really uncomfortable herself, hoped at least to be an object of irrepressible envy to Elinor.

Mrs. Ferrars was a little, thin woman, upright, even to formality, in her figure, and serious, even to sourness, in her aspect. Her complexion was sallow; and her features small, without beauty, and naturally without expression; but a lucky contraction of the brow had rescued her countenance from the disgrace of insipidity, by giving it the strong characters of pride and ill nature. She was not a woman of many words; for, unlike people in general, she proportioned them to the number of her ideas; and of the few syllables that did escape her, not one fell to the share of Miss Dashwood, whom she eyed with the spirited determination of disliking her at all events.

Elinor could not NOW be made unhappy by this behaviour.— A few months ago it would have hurt her exceedingly; but it was not in Mrs. Ferrars' power to distress her by it now;—and the difference of her manners to the Miss Steeles, a difference which seemed purposely made to humble her more, only amused her. She could not but smile to see the graciousness of both mother and daughter towards the very person— for Lucy was particularly distinguished—whom of all others, had they known as much as she did, they would have been most anxious to mortify; while she herself, who had comparatively no power to wound them, sat pointedly slighted by both. But while she smiled at a graciousness so misapplied, she could not reflect on the mean-spirited folly from which it sprung, nor observe the studied attentions with which the Miss Steeles courted its continuance, without thoroughly despising them all four.

Lucy was all exultation on being so honorably distinguished; and Miss Steele wanted only to be teazed about Dr. Davies to be perfectly happy.

The dinner was a grand one, the servants were numerous, and every thing bespoke the Mistress's inclination for show, and the Master's ability to support it. In spite of the improvements and additions which were making to the Norland estate, and in spite of its owner having once been within some thousand pounds of being obliged to sell out at a loss, nothing gave any symptom of that indigence which he had tried to infer from it;—no poverty of any kind, except of conversation, appeared—but there, the deficiency was considerable. John Dashwood had not much to say for himself that was worth hearing, and his wife had still less. But there was no peculiar disgrace in this; for it was very much the case with the chief of their visitors, who almost all laboured under one or other of these disqualifications for being agreeable—Want of sense, either natural or improved—want of elegance—want of spirits—or want of temper.

When the ladies withdrew to the drawing-room after dinner, this poverty was particularly evident, for the gentlemen HAD supplied the discourse with some variety—the variety of politics, inclosing land, and breaking horses—but then it was all over; and one subject only engaged the ladies till coffee came in, which was the comparative heights of Harry Dashwood, and Lady Middleton's second son William, who were nearly of the same age.

Had both the children been there, the affair might have been determined too easily by measuring them at once; but as Harry only was present, it was all conjectural assertion on both sides; and every body had a right to be equally positive in their opinion, and to repeat it over and over again as often as they liked.

The parties stood thus:

The two mothers, though each really convinced that her own son was the tallest, politely decided in favour of the other.

The two grandmothers, with not less partiality, but more sincerity, were equally earnest in support of their own descendant.

Lucy, who was hardly less anxious to please one parent than the other, thought the boys were both remarkably tall for their age, and could not conceive that there could be the smallest difference in the world between them; and Miss Steele, with yet greater address gave it, as fast as she could, in favour of each.

Elinor, having once delivered her opinion on William's side, by which she offended Mrs. Ferrars and Fanny still more, did not see the necessity of enforcing it by any farther assertion; and Marianne, when called on for her's, offended them all, by declaring that she had no opinion to give, as she had never thought about it.

Before her removing from Norland, Elinor had painted a very pretty pair of screens for her sister-in-law, which being now just mounted and brought home, ornamented her present drawing room; and these screens, catching the eye of John Dashwood on his following the other gentlemen into the room, were officiously handed by him to Colonel Brandon for his admiration.

"These are done by my eldest sister," said he; "and you, as a man of taste, will, I dare say, be pleased with them. I do not know whether you have ever happened to see any of her performances before, but she is in general reckoned to draw extremely well."

The Colonel, though disclaiming all pretensions to connoisseurship, warmly admired the screens, as he would have done any thing painted by Miss Dashwood; and on the curiosity of the others being of course excited, they were handed round for general inspection. Mrs. Ferrars, not aware of their being Elinor's work, particularly requested to look at them; and after they had received gratifying testimony of Lady Middletons's approbation, Fanny presented them to her mother, considerately informing her, at the same time, that they were done by Miss Dashwood.

"Hum"—said Mrs. Ferrars—"very pretty,"—and without regarding them at all, returned them to her daughter.

Perhaps Fanny thought for a moment that her mother had been quite rude enough,—for, colouring a little, she immediately said,

"They are very pretty, ma'am—an't they?" But then again, the dread of having been too civil, too encouraging herself, probably came over her, for she presently added,

"Do you not think they are something in Miss Morton's style of painting, Ma'am?—She dose paint most delightfully!—How beautifully her last landscape is done!"

"Beautifully indeed! But she does every thing well."

Marianne could not bear this.—She was already greatly displeased with Mrs. Ferrars; and such ill-timed praise of another, at Elinor's expense, though she had not any notion of what was principally meant by it, provoked her immediately to say with warmth,

"This is admiration of a very particular kind!—what is Miss Morton to us?—who knows, or who cares, for her?—it is Elinor of whom WE think and speak."

And so saying, she took the screens out of her sister-in-law's hands, to admire them herself as they ought to be admired.

Mrs. Ferrars looked exceedingly angry, and drawing herself up more stiffly than ever, pronounced in retort this bitter philippic, "Miss Morton is Lord Morton's daughter."

Fanny looked very angry too, and her husband was all in a fright at his sister's audacity. Elinor was much more hurt by Marianne's warmth than she had been by what produced it; but Colonel Brandon's eyes, as they were fixed on Marianne, declared that he noticed only what was amiable in it, the affectionate heart which could not bear to see a sister slighted in the smallest point.

Marianne's feelings did not stop here. The cold insolence of Mrs. Ferrars's general behaviour to her sister, seemed, to her, to foretell such difficulties and distresses to Elinor, as her own wounded heart taught her to think of with horror; and urged by a strong impulse of affectionate sensibility, she moved after a moment, to her sister's chair, and putting one arm round her neck, and one cheek close to hers, said in a low, but eager, voice,

"Dear, dear Elinor, don't mind them. Don't let them make you unhappy."

She could say no more; her spirits were quite overcome, and hiding her face on Elinor's shoulder, she burst into tears. Every body's attention was called, and almost every body was concerned.—Colonel Brandon rose up and went to them without knowing what he did.—Mrs. Jennings, with a very intelligent "Ah! poor dear," immediately gave her her salts; and Sir John felt so desperately enraged against the author of this nervous distress, that he instantly changed his seat to one close by Lucy Steele, and gave her, in a whisper, a brief account of the whole shocking affair.

In a few minutes, however, Marianne was recovered enough to put an end to the bustle, and sit down among the rest; though her spirits retained the impression of what had passed, the whole evening.

"Poor Marianne!" said her brother to Colonel Brandon, in a low voice, as soon as he could secure his attention,— "She has not such good health as her sister,—she is very nervous,—she has not Elinor's constitution;—and one must allow that there is something very trying to a young woman who has been a beauty in the loss of her personal attractions. You would not think it perhaps, but Marianne WAS remarkably handsome a few months ago; quite as handsome as Elinor.— Now you see it is all gone."



　　约翰．达什伍德夫人非常相信她丈夫的眼力，第二天就去拜访詹宁斯太太和她的女儿。她没有白相信她丈夫，因为她甚至发现前者，也就是她两位小姑与之呆在一起的那位太太，决非不值得亲近。至于米德尔顿夫人，她觉得她是天下最迷人的一位女人。
　　米德尔顿夫人同样喜欢达什伍德夫人。这两人都有点冷漠自私，这就促使她们相互吸引。她们的举止得体而乏趣，她们的智力总的来说比较贫乏，这就促使她们同病相怜。
　　不过，约翰．达什伍德夫人的这般举止虽说博得了米德尔顿夫人的欢心，却不能使詹宁斯太太感到称心如意。在她看来，她不过是个言谈冷漠、神气傲慢的小女人，见到她丈夫的妹妹毫无亲切之感，几乎连句话都不跟她们说。她在伯克利街逗留了一刻钟，其中至少有七分半钟坐在那里默不作声。
　　埃丽诺虽然嘴里不想问，心里却很想知道爱德华当时在不在城里。但是，范妮说什么也不肯随意当着埃丽诺的面提起他的名字，除非她能够告诉埃丽诺：爱德华和莫顿小姐的婚事已经谈妥，或者除非她丈夫对布兰登上校的期望已付诸实现。因为她相信爱德华与埃丽诺之间仍然感情很深，需要随时随地促使他们在言行上尽量保持隔阂。然而，她不肯提供的消息，倒从另一来源得到了。过不多久，露西跑来，希望赢得埃丽诺的同情，因为爱德华和达什伍德夫妇一道来到城里，但她却见不到他。爱德华不敢去巴特利特大搂，唯恐被人发现。虽然两人说不出多么急于相见，但目前只能无可奈何地通通信。
　　时隔不久，爱德华本人两次亲临伯克利街，证明他确实就在城里。有两次，她们上午出去践约回来，发现他的名片摆在桌上。埃丽诺对他的来访感到高兴，而且对自己没有见到他感到更加高兴。
　　达什伍德夫妇极其喜爱米德尔顿夫妇，他们虽说素来没有请客的习惯，但还是决定举行一次晚宴，于是大家刚认识不久，便邀请他们到哈利街吃饭。他们在这里租了一栋上好的房子，为期三个月。他们还邀请了两个妹妹和詹宁斯太太，约翰．达什伍德又特意拉上布兰登上校。布兰登上校总是乐于同达什伍德家小姐呆在一起，受到这番热切邀请，不免感到几分惊奇，但更多的是感到欣喜。席间将见到费拉斯太太，但埃丽诺搞不清楚她的两位儿子是否也会在场。不过，一想到能见到费拉斯太太，倒使她对这次宴会发生了兴趣；因为虽说她现在不像以前那样，需要带着焦灼不安的心情去拜见爱德华的母亲，虽然她现在可以抱着全然无所谓的态度去见她，毫不在乎她对自己的看法，但是她仍然一如既往地渴望结识一下费拉斯太太，了解一下她是什么样的人。
　　此后不久，她听说两位斯蒂尔小姐也要参加这次宴会，尽管心里不很高兴，可是期待赴宴的兴致却骤然大增。
　　米德尔顿夫人十分喜爱两位斯蒂尔小姐，她们对她百般殷勤，博得了她的极大欢心。虽说露西确实不够娴雅，她姐姐甚至还不斯文，可她还是像约翰爵士一样，立刻要求她们在康迪特街住上一两个星期。事有凑巧，这样做对斯蒂尔妹妹特别方便，因为后来从达什伍德夫妇的请柬中得知，她俩要在设宴的前几天就去作客。
　　这姊妹俩之所以能在约翰．达什伍德夫人的宴席上赢得两个席位，倒不是因为她们是曾经关照过她弟弟多年的那位先生的外甥女，而是因为她们作为米德尔顿夫人的客人，必须同样受到欢迎。露西很久以来就想亲自结识一下这家人，仔细观察一下他们的人品和她自己的困难所在，并且趁机尽力讨好他们一番，如今一接到约翰．达什伍德夫人的请帖，简直有生以来从没这么高兴过。
　　埃丽诺的反应截然不同。她当即断定，爱德华既然和他母亲住在一起，那就一定会像他母亲一样，应邀参加他姐姐的晚宴，发生了这一切之后，头一次和露西一起去见爱德华！——她简直不知道她如何忍受得了！
　　她的这些忧虑并非完全建立在理智的基础上，当然也根本不是建立在实事求是的基础上。不过她后来还是消除了忧虑，这倒不是因为她自己镇静下来了，而是多亏露西的一番好意。原来，露西满以为会让埃丽诺大失所望，便告诉她爱德华星期二肯定不会去哈利街。她甚至还想进一步加深她的痛苦，便又对她说：“他之所以避而不来，就是因为他爱她爱得太深了，怕碰到一起隐匿不住。”
　　至关紧要的星期二来临了，两位年轻小姐就要见到那位令人望而生畏的婆母啦。
　　“可怜可怜我吧，亲爱的达什伍德小姐！”大家一起上楼时，露西说道——原来詹宁斯太太一到，米德尔顿夫妇也接跟而来，于是大家同时跟着仆人朝楼上走去。“这里只有你能同情我。我告诉你吧，我简直站不住啦。天哪!我马上就要见到能决定我终身幸福的那个人了一—我未来的婆婆!”
　　埃丽诺本来可以提醒她一句：她们就要见到的可能是莫顿小姐的婆婆，而不是她露西的婆婆，从而立即解除她的紧张心理，但她没有这么做，只是情真意切地对她说，她的确同情她。这使露西大为惊奇，因为她虽说很不自在，却至少希望自己是埃丽诺妒羡不已的对象。
　　费拉斯太太是个瘦小的女人，身板笔直，甚至达到拘谨的程度；仪态端庄，甚至达到迂腐的地步。她脸色灰黄，小鼻子小眼，一点也不俏丽，自然也毫无表情。不过，她眉头一皱，给面部增添了傲慢和暴戾的强烈色彩，因而使她有幸免于落得一个面部表情单调乏味的恶名。她是个话语不多的女入，因为她和一般人不同，总是有多少想法说多少话。而就在情不自禁地说出的片言只语里，没有一丁点是说给达什伍德小姐听的，她对她算是铁了心啦，说什么也不会喜欢她。
　　现在，这种态度并不会给埃丽诺带来不快。几个月以前，她还会感到痛苦不堪，可是事到如今，费拉斯太太己经没有能力让她苦恼了。她对两位斯蒂尔小姐通然不同的态度——这似乎是在有意地进一步贬抑她——只能使她觉得十分滑稽。她看到她们母女二人对同一个人亲切谦和的样于，不禁感到好笑—一因为露西变得特别尊贵起来——其实，她们若是像她一样了解她，那她们一定会迫不及待地羞辱她。而她自己呢，虽然相对来说不可能给她们带来危害，却遭到了她们两人毫不掩饰的冷落。但是，当她冷笑那母女俩乱献殷勤的时候，她怀疑这是由卑鄙而愚蠢的动机造成的。她还看到斯蒂尔姐妹也在蓄意大献殷勤，使这种局面得以继续下去，于是，她不由地对她们四个人鄙视极了。
　　露西被如此尊为贵宾，禁不住欣喜若狂。而斯蒂尔小姐只要别人拿她和戴维斯博士开开玩笑，便也感到喜不自胜。
　　酒席办得非常丰盛，仆人多得不计其数，一切都表明女主人有心要炫耀一番，而男主人也有能力供她炫耀。尽管诺兰庄园正在进行改修和扩建，尽管庄园的主人一度只要再缺几千镑就得蚀本卖空，但是却看不到他试图由此而使人推论出他贫穷的迹象。在这里没有出现别的贫乏，只有谈话是贫乏的——而谈话确实相当贫乏。约翰．达什伍德自己没有多少值得一听的话要说，他夫人要说的就更少。不过这也没有什么特别不光彩的，因为他们的大多数客人也是如此。他们由于没有条件让人感到愉快而几乎伤透了脑筋——他们有的缺乏理智（包括先天的和后天的），有的缺乏雅趣，有的缺乏兴致，有的缺乏气质。
　　女士们吃完饭回到客厅时，这种贫乏表现得尤其明显，因为男士们先前还变换花样提供一点谈话资料——什么政治啦，圈地啦，驯马啦——可是现在这一切都谈完了，直到咖啡端进来为止，太太小姐们一直在谈论着一个话题：年龄相仿的哈里·达什伍德和米德尔顿夫人的老二威廉究竟谁高谁矮。
　　假如两个孩子都在那里，问题倒也很容易解决，马上量一下就能分出高矮，但只有哈里在场，双方只好全靠猜测和推断。不过，每人都有权利发表明确的看法，而且可以再三再四的，爱怎么重复就怎么重复。
　　各人的观点如下：
　　两位母亲虽然都深信自己的儿子高，但是为了礼貌起见，还是断言对方高。
　　两位外祖母虽然和做母亲的一样偏心，但是却比她们来得坦率，都在一个劲地说自己的外孙高。
　　露西一心想取悦两位母亲，认为两个孩子年龄虽小，个子却都高得出奇，她看不出有丝毫差别。斯蒂尔小姐还要老练，伶牙俐齿地把两个孩子都美言了一香。
　　埃丽诺先前曾发表过看法，认为还是威廉高些，结果得罪了费拉斯太太，也更得罪了范妮，现在觉得没有必要再去硬性表态。玛丽安听说让她表态，便当众宣布：她从未考虑过这个问题，说不出有什么看法，因而惹得大家都不快活。
　　埃丽诺离开诺兰之前，曾给嫂嫂绘制了一对非常漂亮的画屏，这画屏送去裱褙刚刚取回家，就摆放在嫂嫂现在的客厅里。约翰．达什伍德跟着男宾们走进来一眼瞧见了这对画屏，便殷勤备至地递给布兰登上校欣赏。
　　“这是我大妹妹的画作，”他说。“你是个很有鉴赏力的人，肯定会喜欢这两幅画儿。我不知道你以前有没有见过她的作品，不过人们普遍认为她画得极其出色。”
　　上校虽然矢口否认自己很有些赏力，但是一见到这两幅画屏，就像见到达什伍德小姐别的画作一祥，大为赞赏。当然，这些画屏也引起了其他人的好奇心，于是大家便争相传看。费拉斯太太不知道这是埃丽诺的作品，特意要求拿来看看。待米德尔顿夫人令人满意地赞赏过之后，范妮便把它递给了她的母亲，同时好心好意地告诉她，这是达什伍德小姐画的。
　　“哼”——费拉斯太太说——“挺漂亮”——连看都不看一眼，便又递还给她女儿。
　　也许范妮当时觉得母亲太鲁莽了，只见她脸上稍稍泛红，然后马上说道：
　　“这画屏很漂亮，是吧，母亲？”但是另一方面，她大概又担心自己过于客气，过于推崇，便当即补充说道：
　　“母亲，你不觉得这画有点像莫顿小姐的绘画风格吗？她确实画得好极了。她最后一幅风景画画得多美啊！”
　　“的确画得美。不过她样样事情都干得好。”
　　这真叫玛丽安忍无可忍。她早已对费拉斯太太大为不满了，再一听她这么不合时宜地赞赏另一个人，贬低埃丽诺，她虽说不晓得对方有什么主要意图，却顿时冒火了，只听她气冲冲地说道：
　　“我们在赞赏一种异乎寻常的绘画艺术！莫顿小姐算老几？谁晓得她？谁稀罕她？我们考虑和谈论的是埃丽诺。”
　　说着，她从嫂子手里夺过画屏，煞有介事地赞赏起来。
　　费拉斯太太看上去气急败坏，她的身子比以往挺得更直了，恶狠狠地反驳说：“莫顿小姐是莫顿勋爵的女儿。”
　　范妮看样子也很气愤，而她丈夫却被他妹妹的胆大妄为吓了一跳。玛丽安的发火给埃丽诺造成了更大的痛苦，刚才耳闻目睹那些导致玛丽安发作的事情，她还没有这么痛苦呢。不过布兰登上校一直拿眼睛盯着玛丽安，他的目光表明，他只注意到事情好的一面：玛丽安有颗火热的心，使她无法容忍自己的姐姐受到丝毫的轻蔑。
　　玛丽安的愤激没有到此为止。费拉斯太太如此冷酷无情、蛮横无礼地对待她姐姐，使她感到震惊和痛心，她似乎觉得，费拉斯太太的整个态度预示着埃丽诺的多灾多难。转眼间，她在一股深情厚意的强烈驱使下，走到姐姐的坐椅前，一只手臂搂住她的脖子，脸腮紧贴着她的脸，声音低微而急切地说道：
　　“我最最亲爱的埃丽诺，不要介意。不要让她们搞得你不高兴。”
　　她再也说不下去了，实在顶不住了，便一头扑到埃丽诺肩上，哇的一声哭了起来。她的哭声引起了每个人的注意，而且几乎引起了每个人的关切。布兰登上校立起身，不由自主地朝她们走去。詹宁斯太太十分机灵地喊了声：“啊！可怜的宝贝，”当即拿出她的嗅盐让她闻。约翰爵士对这场精神痛苦的肇事人极为愤慨，他马上换了个位置，坐到露西．斯蒂尔小姐身旁，把这起骇人听闻的事情低声对她简要叙说了一番。
　　几分钟之后，玛丽安恢复了正常，这场骚动便告结束，她又坐到众人当中。不过整个晚上出了这些事，她情绪总是受到了影响。
　　“可怜的玛丽安：”她哥哥一抓住空子，便轻声对布兰登上校说道。“她的身体不像她姐姐那样好——她真有些神经质——她没有埃丽诺的素质好。人们必须承认，对于一个年轻姑娘来说，本来倒是个美人，一下子失去了自身的魅力，这也真够痛苦的。也许说来你不会相信，玛丽安几个月以前确实非常漂亮———简直和埃丽诺一样漂亮。可现在你瞧，一切都完了。” 　
  
回复 引用 新鲜事
顶端
narcis

ZxID：9184039

763474鲜花 75鸡蛋

等级: 派派版主
一二三四五六七~~~
举报 只看该作者 34楼  发表于: 2013-10-29 0
Chapter Thirty-three

After some opposition, Marianne yielded to her sister's entreaties, and consented to go out with her and Mrs. Jennings one morning for half an hour. She expressly conditioned, however, for paying no visits, and would do no more than accompany them to Gray's in Sackville Street, where Elinor was carrying on a negotiation for the exchange of a few old-fashioned jewels of her mother.

When they stopped at the door, Mrs. Jennings recollected that there was a lady at the other end of the street on whom she ought to call; and as she had no business at Gray's, it was resolved, that while her young friends transacted their's, she should pay her visit and return for them.

On ascending the stairs, the Miss Dashwoods found so many people before them in the room, that there was not a person at liberty to tend to their orders; and they were obliged to wait. All that could be done was, to sit down at that end of the counter which seemed to promise the quickest succession; one gentleman only was standing there, and it is probable that Elinor was not without hope of exciting his politeness to a quicker despatch. But the correctness of his eye, and the delicacy of his taste, proved to be beyond his politeness. He was giving orders for a toothpick-case for himself, and till its size, shape, and ornaments were determined, all of which, after examining and debating for a quarter of an hour over every toothpick-case in the shop, were finally arranged by his own inventive fancy, he had no leisure to bestow any other attention on the two ladies, than what was comprised in three or four very broad stares; a kind of notice which served to imprint on Elinor the remembrance of a person and face, of strong, natural, sterling insignificance, though adorned in the first style of fashion.

Marianne was spared from the troublesome feelings of contempt and resentment, on this impertinent examination of their features, and on the puppyism of his manner in deciding on all the different horrors of the different toothpick-cases presented to his inspection, by remaining unconscious of it all; for she was as well able to collect her thoughts within herself, and be as ignorant of what was passing around her, in Mr. Gray's shop, as in her own bedroom.

At last the affair was decided. The ivory, the gold, and the pearls, all received their appointment, and the gentleman having named the last day on which his existence could be continued without the possession of the toothpick-case, drew on his gloves with leisurely care, and bestowing another glance on the Miss Dashwoods, but such a one as seemed rather to demand than express admiration, walked off with a happy air of real conceit and affected indifference.

Elinor lost no time in bringing her business forward, was on the point of concluding it, when another gentleman presented himself at her side. She turned her eyes towards his face, and found him with some surprise to be her brother.

Their affection and pleasure in meeting was just enough to make a very creditable appearance in Mr. Gray's shop. John Dashwood was really far from being sorry to see his sisters again; it rather gave them satisfaction; and his inquiries after their mother were respectful and attentive.

Elinor found that he and Fanny had been in town two days.

"I wished very much to call upon you yesterday," said he, "but it was impossible, for we were obliged to take Harry to see the wild beasts at Exeter Exchange; and we spent the rest of the day with Mrs. Ferrars. Harry was vastly pleased. THIS morning I had fully intended to call on you, if I could possibly find a spare half hour, but one has always so much to do on first coming to town. I am come here to bespeak Fanny a seal. But tomorrow I think I shall certainly be able to call in Berkeley Street, and be introduced to your friend Mrs. Jennings. I understand she is a woman of very good fortune. And the Middletons too, you must introduce me to THEM. As my mother-in-law's relations, I shall be happy to show them every respect. They are excellent neighbours to you in the country, I understand."

"Excellent indeed. Their attention to our comfort, their friendliness in every particular, is more than I can express."

"I am extremely glad to hear it, upon my word; extremely glad indeed. But so it ought to be; they are people of large fortune, they are related to you, and every civility and accommodation that can serve to make your situation pleasant might be reasonably expected. And so you are most comfortably settled in your little cottage and want for nothing! Edward brought us a most charming account of the place: the most complete thing of its kind, he said, that ever was, and you all seemed to enjoy it beyond any thing. It was a great satisfaction to us to hear it, I assure you."

Elinor did feel a little ashamed of her brother; and was not sorry to be spared the necessity of answering him, by the arrival of Mrs. Jennings's servant, who came to tell her that his mistress waited for them at the door.

Mr. Dashwood attended them down stairs, was introduced to Mrs. Jennings at the door of her carriage, and repeating his hope of being able to call on them the next day, took leave.

His visit was duly paid. He came with a pretence at an apology from their sister-in-law, for not coming too; "but she was so much engaged with her mother, that really she had no leisure for going any where." Mrs. Jennings, however, assured him directly, that she should not stand upon ceremony, for they were all cousins, or something like it, and she should certainly wait on Mrs. John Dashwood very soon, and bring her sisters to see her. His manners to THEM, though calm, were perfectly kind; to Mrs. Jennings, most attentively civil; and on Colonel Brandon's coming in soon after himself, he eyed him with a curiosity which seemed to say, that he only wanted to know him to be rich, to be equally civil to HIM.

After staying with them half an hour, he asked Elinor to walk with him to Conduit Street, and introduce him to Sir John and Lady Middleton. The weather was remarkably fine, and she readily consented. As soon as they were out of the house, his enquiries began.

"Who is Colonel Brandon? Is he a man of fortune?"

"Yes; he has very good property in Dorsetshire."

"I am glad of it. He seems a most gentlemanlike man; and I think, Elinor, I may congratulate you on the prospect of a very respectable establishment in life."

"Me, brother! what do you mean?"

"He likes you. I observed him narrowly, and am convinced of it. What is the amount of his fortune?"

"I believe about two thousand a year."

"Two thousand a-year;" and then working himself up to a pitch of enthusiastic generosity, he added, "Elinor, I wish with all my heart it were TWICE as much, for your sake."

"Indeed I believe you," replied Elinor; "but I am very sure that Colonel Brandon has not the smallest wish of marrying ME."

"You are mistaken, Elinor; you are very much mistaken. A very little trouble on your side secures him. Perhaps just at present he may be undecided; the smallness of your fortune may make him hang back; his friends may all advise him against it. But some of those little attentions and encouragements which ladies can so easily give will fix him, in spite of himself. And there can be no reason why you should not try for him. It is not to be supposed that any prior attachment on your side—in short, you know as to an attachment of that kind, it is quite out of the question, the objections are insurmountable—you have too much sense not to see all that. Colonel Brandon must be the man; and no civility shall be wanting on my part to make him pleased with you and your family. It is a match that must give universal satisfaction. In short, it is a kind of thing that"—lowering his voice to an important whisper—"will be exceedingly welcome to ALL PARTIES." Recollecting himself, however, he added, "That is, I mean to say—your friends are all truly anxious to see you well settled; Fanny particularly, for she has your interest very much at heart, I assure you. And her mother too, Mrs. Ferrars, a very good-natured woman, I am sure it would give her great pleasure; she said as much the other day."

Elinor would not vouchsafe any answer.

"It would be something remarkable, now," he continued, "something droll, if Fanny should have a brother and I a sister settling at the same time. And yet it is not very unlikely."

"Is Mr. Edward Ferrars," said Elinor, with resolution, "going to be married?"

"It is not actually settled, but there is such a thing in agitation. He has a most excellent mother. Mrs. Ferrars, with the utmost liberality, will come forward, and settle on him a thousand a year, if the match takes place. The lady is the Hon. Miss Morton, only daughter of the late Lord Morton, with thirty thousand pounds. A very desirable connection on both sides, and I have not a doubt of its taking place in time. A thousand a-year is a great deal for a mother to give away, to make over for ever; but Mrs. Ferrars has a noble spirit. To give you another instance of her liberality:—The other day, as soon as we came to town, aware that money could not be very plenty with us just now, she put bank-notes into Fanny's hands to the amount of two hundred pounds. And extremely acceptable it is, for we must live at a great expense while we are here."

He paused for her assent and compassion; and she forced herself to say,

"Your expenses both in town and country must certainly be considerable; but your income is a large one."

"Not so large, I dare say, as many people suppose. I do not mean to complain, however; it is undoubtedly a comfortable one, and I hope will in time be better. The enclosure of Norland Common, now carrying on, is a most serious drain. And then I have made a little purchase within this half year; East Kingham Farm, you must remember the place, where old Gibson used to live. The land was so very desirable for me in every respect, so immediately adjoining my own property, that I felt it my duty to buy it. I could not have answered it to my conscience to let it fall into any other hands. A man must pay for his convenience; and it HAS cost me a vast deal of money."

"More than you think it really and intrinsically worth."

"Why, I hope not that. I might have sold it again, the next day, for more than I gave: but, with regard to the purchase-money, I might have been very unfortunate indeed; for the stocks were at that time so low, that if I had not happened to have the necessary sum in my banker's hands, I must have sold out to very great loss."

Elinor could only smile.

"Other great and inevitable expenses too we have had on first coming to Norland. Our respected father, as you well know, bequeathed all the Stanhill effects that remained at Norland (and very valuable they were) to your mother. Far be it from me to repine at his doing so; he had an undoubted right to dispose of his own property as he chose, but, in consequence of it, we have been obliged to make large purchases of linen, china, &c. to supply the place of what was taken away. You may guess, after all these expenses, how very far we must be from being rich, and how acceptable Mrs. Ferrars's kindness is."

"Certainly," said Elinor; "and assisted by her liberality, I hope you may yet live to be in easy circumstances."

"Another year or two may do much towards it," he gravely replied; "but however there is still a great deal to be done. There is not a stone laid of Fanny's green-house, and nothing but the plan of the flower-garden marked out."

"Where is the green-house to be?"

"Upon the knoll behind the house. The old walnut trees are all come down to make room for it. It will be a very fine object from many parts of the park, and the flower-garden will slope down just before it, and be exceedingly pretty. We have cleared away all the old thorns that grew in patches over the brow."

Elinor kept her concern and her censure to herself; and was very thankful that Marianne was not present, to share the provocation.

Having now said enough to make his poverty clear, and to do away the necessity of buying a pair of ear-rings for each of his sisters, in his next visit at Gray's his thoughts took a cheerfuller turn, and he began to congratulate Elinor on having such a friend as Mrs. Jennings.

"She seems a most valuable woman indeed—Her house, her style of living, all bespeak an exceeding good income; and it is an acquaintance that has not only been of great use to you hitherto, but in the end may prove materially advantageous.—Her inviting you to town is certainly a vast thing in your favour; and indeed, it speaks altogether so great a regard for you, that in all probability when she dies you will not be forgotten.— She must have a great deal to leave."

"Nothing at all, I should rather suppose; for she has only her jointure, which will descend to her children."

"But it is not to be imagined that she lives up to her income. Few people of common prudence will do THAT; and whatever she saves, she will be able to dispose of."

"And do you not think it more likely that she should leave it to her daughters, than to us?"

"Her daughters are both exceedingly well married, and therefore I cannot perceive the necessity of her remembering them farther. Whereas, in my opinion, by her taking so much notice of you, and treating you in this kind of way, she has given you a sort of claim on her future consideration, which a conscientious woman would not disregard. Nothing can be kinder than her behaviour; and she can hardly do all this, without being aware of the expectation it raises."

"But she raises none in those most concerned. Indeed, brother, your anxiety for our welfare and prosperity carries you too far."

"Why, to be sure," said he, seeming to recollect himself, "people have little, have very little in their power. But, my dear Elinor, what is the matter with Marianne?— she looks very unwell, has lost her colour, and is grown quite thin. Is she ill?"

"She is not well, she has had a nervous complaint on her for several weeks."

"I am sorry for that. At her time of life, any thing of an illness destroys the bloom for ever! Her's has been a very short one! She was as handsome a girl last September, as I ever saw; and as likely to attract the man. There was something in her style of beauty, to please them particularly. I remember Fanny used to say that she would marry sooner and better than you did; not but what she is exceedingly fond of you, but so it happened to strike her. She will be mistaken, however. I question whether Marianne now, will marry a man worth more than five or six hundred a-year, at the utmost, and I am very much deceived if you do not do better. Dorsetshire! I know very little of Dorsetshire; but, my dear Elinor, I shall be exceedingly glad to know more of it; and I think I can answer for your having Fanny and myself among the earliest and best pleased of your visitors."

Elinor tried very seriously to convince him that there was no likelihood of her marrying Colonel Brandon; but it was an expectation of too much pleasure to himself to be relinquished, and he was really resolved on seeking an intimacy with that gentleman, and promoting the marriage by every possible attention. He had just compunction enough for having done nothing for his sisters himself, to be exceedingly anxious that everybody else should do a great deal; and an offer from Colonel Brandon, or a legacy from Mrs. Jennings, was the easiest means of atoning for his own neglect.

They were lucky enough to find Lady Middleton at home, and Sir John came in before their visit ended. Abundance of civilities passed on all sides. Sir John was ready to like anybody, and though Mr. Dashwood did not seem to know much about horses, he soon set him down as a very good-natured fellow: while Lady Middleton saw enough of fashion in his appearance to think his acquaintance worth having; and Mr. Dashwood went away delighted with both.

"I shall have a charming account to carry to Fanny," said he, as he walked back with his sister. "Lady Middleton is really a most elegant woman! Such a woman as I am sure Fanny will be glad to know. And Mrs. Jennings too, an exceedingly well-behaved woman, though not so elegant as her daughter. Your sister need not have any scruple even of visiting her, which, to say the truth, has been a little the case, and very naturally; for we only knew that Mrs. Jennings was the widow of a man who had got all his money in a low way; and Fanny and Mrs. Ferrars were both strongly prepossessed, that neither she nor her daughters were such kind of women as Fanny would like to associate with. But now I can carry her a most satisfactory account of both."



　　玛丽安执拗了一阵之后，还是向姐姐的一再恳求屈从了，同意陪她和詹宁斯太太上午出去溜达半个小时。不过，她规定了明确的条件：不准走亲访友，而且顶多陪她们走到塞克维尔街格雷商店，因为埃丽诺正在同店家洽谈，想替母亲交换几件旧式珠宝。
　　大家来到店门口，詹宁斯太太想起街那头有位太太，她应该去拜访一下。因为她到格雷商店无事可办，于是双方说定，趁两位年轻朋友办事的工夫，她去串个门，然后再回来找她们。
　　两位达什伍德小姐上楼梯时，只见有不少人早来了，店里没人顾得上应酬她们，于是只好等候。最好的办法是坐到柜台一端，看来这样可能轮起来最快。这里只站着一位先生，埃丽诺大有希望让他讲点礼貌，办事利索点。谁知这人特别挑剔，也很有眼力，顾不上讲究礼貌。他要订购一只牙签盒，为了确定大小、式样和图案，他把店里的所有牙签盒都拿来端详、盘算，每只都要磨蹭半个钟头，最后凭着他那神奇的想象力终于定了下来。在此期间，他无暇顾及两位小姐，只是粗略地瞟了她们三四眼。不过他这一回顾，倒使他那副外貌和嘴脸深深铭刻在埃丽诺的脑海里：他纵使打扮得时鬓绝顶，也只不过是个愚昧、好强、不折不扣的卑微小人。
　　玛丽安倒免于产生这种令人烦恼的轻蔑憎恶之感，那人傲慢无礼地打量她俩的面庞也好，神态自负地鉴定送他查看的种种牙签盒的种种缺陷也好，她都不曾觉察。因为她在格雷商店和在自己卧室里一样，总是聚精会神地想心思，对周围发生的事情全然不师。
　　最后，事情终于定下来了，连上面的牙饰、金饰、珠饰都做了规定。那人又定了个日期，好像到那天拿不到牙签盒，他就活不下去似的。他从容小心地戴上手套，又向两位达什伍德小姐瞟了一眼，不过这一瞥似乎不是表示艳羡对方，而是想让对方艳羡自己。接着，他故意摆出一副傲气十足、悄然自得的架势走开了。
　　埃丽诺赶忙提出了自己的买卖，正要成交的时候，又有一个男子出现在她身旁。她转眼朝他脸部望去，意外地发现，原来是她哥哥。
　　他们见面时的那个喜幸亲热劲儿，在倍雷商店里看上去还真像回事儿似的。约翰．达什伍德能再见到妹妹，确实一点也不感到遗憾。相反，大家都很高兴。他对母亲的问候是恭敬的，关切的。
　　埃丽诺发现，他和范妮进城两天了。
　　“我昨天就很想去拜望你们，”他说，“可是去不了，因为我们得带着哈里去埃克塞特交易场看野兽，剩下的时间就陪陪费拉斯太太。哈里高兴极了。今天早晨哪怕能有半小时的空闲工夫，我也决计要来看望你们的，哪知人刚进城，总有一大堆事情要办！我来这里给范妮订一枚图章。不过，我想明天一定能去伯克利街，拜见一下你们的朋友詹宁斯太太。我听说，她是个十分有钱的女人。米德尔顿夫妇也很有钱，你一定要把我引见给她们。他们既然是我继母的亲戚，我很乐于表示我对他们的万般敬意。我听说，他们是你们的好乡邻。”
　　“的确是好。他们关心我们的安适，处处友好相待，好得我无法形容。”
　　“说老实活，听你这么说，我高兴极啦，实在是高兴极啦。不过，这是理所当然的，他们都是有钱入，和你们又沾亲带故的，按理是该对你们客客气气的，提供种种方便，使得你们过得舒舒适适。这么一来，你们住在小乡舍里过得非常舒适，什么都不缺。有关那房子，爱德华向我们做过引人入胜的描绘。他说，在同类房子中，它是历来最完美无缺的了，还说你们好像喜欢得不得了。说实话，我们听了也大为高兴。”
　　埃丽诺有点替她哥哥感到羞耻，因而当詹宁斯太太的仆人跑来报告太太已在门口等候，省得她再回哥哥的话时，她一点也不感到遗憾。
　　达什伍德先生陪着她俩下了楼，来到詹宁斯太太的马车门口，被介绍给这位太太。他再次表示，希望第二天能去拜访她们，说罢告辞而去。
　　他如期来拜访了，而且还为她们的嫂嫂未能一同前来，假意道歉一番：“她要陪伴她母亲，确实没有工夫走开。”不过，詹宁斯太太当即让他放心，叫做嫂嫂的不用客气，因为她们也都算得上是表亲嘛。她还说，她一定尽快去拜访约翰．达什伍德夫人，带着她的小姑去看望她。约翰对妹妹虽然处之泰然，却也十分客气，而对詹宁斯太太，尤为必恭必敬，礼貌周全。他进屋不久，布兰登上校也接踵而来。约翰好奇地打量着他，好像在说：他只消知道他是个有钱人，对他也会同样客客气气的。
　　在这里逗留了半个小时之后，约翰让埃丽诺陪他走到康迪特街，把他介绍给约翰爵士和米德尔顿夫人。那天天气异常之好，埃丽诺便欣然同意了。两人一走出屋，约翰便张口询问开了。
　　“布兰登上校是谁？他是个有钱人吗？”
　　“是的，他在多塞特郡有一大笔资产。”
　　“我听了很高兴，他看上去是个极有绅士风度的人。埃丽诺，我想我该恭喜你，你这一辈子可以指望有个十分体面的归宿了。”
　　“我？哥哥——你这是什么意思？”
　　“他喜欢你。我仔细观察过他，对此确信不疑。他有多少财产？”
　　“我想一年大约两千镑。”
　　“一年两千镑。”他说着，心里激起一股热烈慷慨的豪情，接下去说道：“埃丽诺，看在你的份上，我真心希望他有两倍这么多。”
　　“我的确相信你的话，”埃丽诺答道，“但是我敢肯定，布兰登上校丝毫没有想娶我的意思。”
　　“你搞错了，埃丽诺，大错特错了。你只要略作努力，就能把他抓到手。也许他目前会犹豫不决，你的那点微薄的财产会使他畏缩不前。他的朋友们还会从中作梗。不过，稍稍献点殷勤，略微加以引逗，就能让他不由自主地就范，这在女人是很容易做到的。你没有什么理由不去争取他。不要以为你以前的那种恋爱——总而言之，你知道那种恋爱是绝对不可能了，你有着不可逾越的障碍——你是个有理性的人，不会不明白这个道理。布兰登上校蛮不错啦，我一定对他客客气气的，让他对你和你的家庭感到满意。这真是一门皆大欢喜的亲事。总而言之，”——他压低声音，神气活现地悄悄说道——“这一定会受到各方面的热烈欢迎。”接着又想起了什么，，补充说：“我的意思是——你的朋友们都真诚渴望你能找个好人家，特别是范妮，老实说，她十分关心你的事。还有她母亲费拉斯太太，是个非常温厚的女人，我想她肯定会感到十分高兴的。她前几天就这么说过。”
　　埃丽诺不屑一答。
　　“倘若范妮有个弟弟、我有个妹妹能在同时解决终身大事，”约翰继续说道，“那真是件了不起的事情，妙不可言的事情。然而，这也并非绝对不可能啊。”
　　“爱德华．费拉斯先生要结婚啦？”埃丽诺果断地问道。
　　“还没真正定下来，不过正在筹划这件事。他有个极好的母亲。费拉斯太太极其慷慨，如果婚事办成了，她将主动提出，一年给他一千镑。女方是尊贵的莫顿小姐，是已故莫顿勋爵的独生女，有三万镑财产———这门亲事双方都很称心如意，我毫不怀疑婚事会如期操办。一年一千镑，一个做母亲的能给这么一大笔钱，而且要给一辈子；不过费拉斯太太具有崇高的精神。再给你说个她为人慷慨大方的例子。那天，我们刚一进城，她知道我们手头一时不很宽裕，就往范妮手里塞了二百镑钞票。真是求之不得呀，因为我们在这几的花销一定很大。”
　　他顿了顿，想听埃丽诺说句赞同和同情的话；不想她勉强说道：
　　“你们在城里和乡下的花销肯定都相当可观，但是你们的收入也很高啊。”
　　“我说呀，可不像许多人想象的那么高。不过，我倒不想叹穷叫苦。我们的收入无疑是相当不错的，我希望有朝一日会更上一层楼。正在进行的诺兰公地的圈地耗资巨大。另外，我这半年里还置了点地产——东金汉农场，你一定记得这地方，老吉布森以前住在这里。这块地无论从哪个方面来看，对我都十分理想，紧挨着我自己的房地产，因此我觉得我有义务把它买下来。假如让它落到别人手里，我将会受到良心的责备。人要为自己的便利付出代价，我已经花费了一笔巨款。”
　　“你是不是认为实在值不了那么多钱？”
　　“噢，我希望并非如此。我买后的第二天本来可以再卖掉的，还能赚钱。可是说起买价，我倒可能真是很不幸，因为当时股票的价值很低，我若不是碰巧把这笔必要的钱存在我的银行家手里，那我就得大蚀其本卖掉全部股票。”
　　埃丽诺只能付之一笑。
　　“我们刚到诺兰庄园时，还难免要有一些别的大笔开支。你很清楚，我们敬爱的父亲把保留在诺兰庄园的斯坦希尔的财产（这些财产还很值钱呢），全部送给了你母亲。我决不是埋怨他不该这么做。他毋庸置疑有权随意处理自己的财产。不过，这样一来，我们不得不购置大量的亚麻织品、瓷器之类的东西，用来弥补家里被取走的那些玩艺。你可以猜想到，这番开销之后，我们一定是大伤元气，费拉斯太太的恩赐真是求之不得。”
　　“的确是那样，”埃丽诺说道。“你们得到她的慷慨资助，希望你们能过上优裕的生活。”
　　“再过一两年可能差不多了，”约翰一本正经地答道。“不过现在还差得远。范妮的温室一块石头也没砌，花园只不过才画出个图样。”
　　“温室建在哪儿？”
　　“屋后的小山上。为了腾地方，那些老核桃树全给砍掉了。这座温室从庄园的每个部位看去都很漂亮，花园就在温室前面的斜坡上，漂亮极了。我们已经清除了山顶上的荆棘丛。”
　　埃丽诺把忧虑和责难闷在心里，使她感到欣慰的是，幸亏玛丽安不在场，省得和她一起受这窝囊气。
　　达什伍德先生哭穷哭够了，下次再去格雷商店也用不着给她妹妹一人买一副耳环，心里不禁又变得快活起来，便转而恭喜埃丽诺能有詹宁斯太太这样一位朋友。
　　“她确实是个非常富有的妇女。她的住宅和生活派头都表明她有极高的收入，有这么个熟人不光目前对你大有好处，最终还可能给你带来鸿福呢。她邀请你到城里来，这当然是赏给你的很大面子，确实表明她非常器重你，她去世的时候，十有八九忘不了你。她一定会留下一大笔遗产。”
　　“我看什么也不会有，她只有点寡妇所得产，将来要传给她的女儿。”
　　“那你很难想象她会进多少花多少。只要是注意节俭的人，谁也不会那样干。而她积攒下来的钱，总得想法处理掉吧。”
　　“那么，你难道不认为她可能宁肯留给她女儿，而不留给我们吗?”
　　“她两个女儿都嫁给了大富大贵人家，我看她没有必要再给她们遗产。我倒是觉得，她这么赏识你们，如此这般地厚待你们，那她将来就应该考虑到你们的正当要求，对于一个谨慎的女人来说，这是忽略不得的。她心地最善良不过了，她的这一切举动会惹人产生期望，这她不可能不知道。”
　　“不过，她还没有惹得那些切身有关的人产生期望呢。说真的，哥哥，你为我们的安乐幸福操心，也操得太远了。”
　　“噢，当然如此，”约翰说，仿佛想镇定一下，“人的能力是有限的，非常有限。不过，亲爱的埃丽诺，玛丽安怎么啦？她看样子很不舒服，脸色苍白，人也变得非常消瘦。她是不是有病啊？”
　　“她是不舒服，最近几个星期老说神经痛。”
　　“真不幸。在她这个年纪，不管生一场什么病，都会永远毁掉青春的娇艳！她的青春太短暂了！去年九月，她还和我见过的任何女人一样漂亮，一样惹男人动心。她的美貌有一种特别讨男人喜爱的姿质。我记得范妮过去常说，她要比你早结婚，而且对象也比你的好。其实她是极其喜欢你的——她只是偶尔产生了这么个念头。不过，她想错了。我怀疑，玛丽安现在是不是能嫁给一个每年充其量不过五六百镑的男人。你要是不超过她，那才怪呢。多塞特郡！我对多塞特郡不很了解，不过，亲爱的埃丽诺，我极其乐于多了解了解它。我想你一定会允许范妮和我成为你们第一批、也是最幸运的客人。”
　　埃丽诺非常严肃地对他说，她不可能嫁给布兰登上校。然而，他一心期待这门亲事能给他带来无比巨大的喜悦，因而不肯善罢甘休。他打定主意，千方百计地密切同那位先生的关系，尽心竭力地促成这门婚事。他对妹妹一向没有尽过力，感到有点歉疚，因此便渴望别人能多出点力。让布兰登上校向她求婚，或者让詹宁斯太太给她留下一笔遗产，将是他弥补自己过失的最简便的途径。
　　他们还算幸运，正好赶上米德尔顿夫人在家，约翰爵士也在他们访问结束之前回到家里。大家都很有礼貌。约翰爵士随便对谁都很喜爱，达什伍德先生虽说不善于识人，但很快就把他看作一个厚道人。米德尔顿夫人见他仪表堂堂，便也觉得他很值得结识。达什伍德先生告辞时，对这两人都很中意。
　　“我要向范妮报告一下这次美好的会见，”他和妹妹一边往回走，一边说道。“米德尔顿夫人确实是个极其娴雅的女人！我知道范妮就喜欢结识这样的女人。还有詹宁斯太太，她是个极懂规矩的女人，虽然不像她女儿那样娴雅。你嫂嫂甚至可以毫无顾忌地来拜访她。说老实话，她原来有点顾忌，这是很自然的。因为我们先前只知道詹宁斯太太是个寡妇，她丈夫靠卑劣的手段发了财，于是范妮和费拉斯太太便抱有强烈的偏见，认为她和她女儿都不是范妮应该与之交往的那种女人。现在，我要回去向她好好地美言一番。” 　
  
回复 引用 新鲜事
顶端
narcis

ZxID：9184039

763474鲜花 75鸡蛋

等级: 派派版主
一二三四五六七~~~
举报 只看该作者 33楼  发表于: 2013-10-29 0
Chapter Thirty-two

When the particulars of this conversation were repeated by Miss Dashwood to her sister, as they very soon were, the effect on her was not entirely such as the former had hoped to see. Not that Marianne appeared to distrust the truth of any part of it, for she listened to it all with the most steady and submissive attention, made neither objection nor remark, attempted no vindication of Willoughby, and seemed to shew by her tears that she felt it to be impossible. But though this behaviour assured Elinor that the conviction of this guilt WAS carried home to her mind, though she saw with satisfaction the effect of it, in her no longer avoiding Colonel Brandon when he called, in her speaking to him, even voluntarily speaking, with a kind of compassionate respect, and though she saw her spirits less violently irritated than before, she did not see her less wretched. Her mind did become settled, but it was settled in a gloomy dejection. She felt the loss of Willoughby's character yet more heavily than she had felt the loss of his heart; his seduction and desertion of Miss Williams, the misery of that poor girl, and the doubt of what his designs might once have been on herself, preyed altogether so much on her spirits, that she could not bring herself to speak of what she felt even to Elinor; and, brooding over her sorrows in silence, gave more pain to her sister than could have been communicated by the most open and most frequent confession of them.

To give the feelings or the language of Mrs. Dashwood on receiving and answering Elinor's letter would be only to give a repetition of what her daughters had already felt and said; of a disappointment hardly less painful than Marianne's, and an indignation even greater than Elinor's. Long letters from her, quickly succeeding each other, arrived to tell all that she suffered and thought; to express her anxious solicitude for Marianne, and entreat she would bear up with fortitude under this misfortune. Bad indeed must the nature of Marianne's affliction be, when her mother could talk of fortitude! mortifying and humiliating must be the origin of those regrets, which she could wish her not to indulge!

Against the interest of her own individual comfort, Mrs. Dashwood had determined that it would be better for Marianne to be any where, at that time, than at Barton, where every thing within her view would be bringing back the past in the strongest and most afflicting manner, by constantly placing Willoughby before her, such as she had always seen him there. She recommended it to her daughters, therefore, by all means not to shorten their visit to Mrs. Jennings; the length of which, though never exactly fixed, had been expected by all to comprise at least five or six weeks. A variety of occupations, of objects, and of company, which could not be procured at Barton, would be inevitable there, and might yet, she hoped, cheat Marianne, at times, into some interest beyond herself, and even into some amusement, much as the ideas of both might now be spurned by her.

From all danger of seeing Willoughby again, her mother considered her to be at least equally safe in town as in the country, since his acquaintance must now be dropped by all who called themselves her friends. Design could never bring them in each other's way: negligence could never leave them exposed to a surprise; and chance had less in its favour in the crowd of London than even in the retirement of Barton, where it might force him before her while paying that visit at Allenham on his marriage, which Mrs. Dashwood, from foreseeing at first as a probable event, had brought herself to expect as a certain one.

She had yet another reason for wishing her children to remain where they were; a letter from her son-in-law had told her that he and his wife were to be in town before the middle of February, and she judged it right that they should sometimes see their brother.

Marianne had promised to be guided by her mother's opinion, and she submitted to it therefore without opposition, though it proved perfectly different from what she wished and expected, though she felt it to be entirely wrong, formed on mistaken grounds, and that by requiring her longer continuance in London it deprived her of the only possible alleviation of her wretchedness, the personal sympathy of her mother, and doomed her to such society and such scenes as must prevent her ever knowing a moment's rest.

But it was a matter of great consolation to her, that what brought evil to herself would bring good to her sister; and Elinor, on the other hand, suspecting that it would not be in her power to avoid Edward entirely, comforted herself by thinking, that though their longer stay would therefore militate against her own happiness, it would be better for Marianne than an immediate return into Devonshire.

Her carefulness in guarding her sister from ever hearing Willoughby's name mentioned, was not thrown away. Marianne, though without knowing it herself, reaped all its advantage; for neither Mrs. Jennings, nor Sir John, nor even Mrs. Palmer herself, ever spoke of him before her. Elinor wished that the same forbearance could have extended towards herself, but that was impossible, and she was obliged to listen day after day to the indignation of them all.

Sir John, could not have thought it possible. "A man of whom he had always had such reason to think well! Such a good-natured fellow! He did not believe there was a bolder rider in England! It was an unaccountable business. He wished him at the devil with all his heart. He would not speak another word to him, meet him where he might, for all the world! No, not if it were to be by the side of Barton covert, and they were kept watching for two hours together. Such a scoundrel of a fellow! such a deceitful dog! It was only the last time they met that he had offered him one of Folly's puppies! and this was the end of it!"

Mrs. Palmer, in her way, was equally angry. "She was determined to drop his acquaintance immediately, and she was very thankful that she had never been acquainted with him at all. She wished with all her heart Combe Magna was not so near Cleveland; but it did not signify, for it was a great deal too far off to visit; she hated him so much that she was resolved never to mention his name again, and she should tell everybody she saw, how good-for-nothing he was."

The rest of Mrs. Palmer's sympathy was shewn in procuring all the particulars in her power of the approaching marriage, and communicating them to Elinor. She could soon tell at what coachmaker's the new carriage was building, by what painter Mr. Willoughby's portrait was drawn, and at what warehouse Miss Grey's clothes might be seen.

The calm and polite unconcern of Lady Middleton on the occasion was a happy relief to Elinor's spirits, oppressed as they often were by the clamorous kindness of the others. It was a great comfort to her to be sure of exciting no interest in one person at least among their circle of friends: a great comfort to know that there was one who would meet her without feeling any curiosity after particulars, or any anxiety for her sister's health.

Every qualification is raised at times, by the circumstances of the moment, to more than its real value; and she was sometimes worried down by officious condolence to rate good-breeding as more indispensable to comfort than good-nature.

Lady Middleton expressed her sense of the affair about once every day, or twice, if the subject occurred very often, by saying, "It is very shocking, indeed!" and by the means of this continual though gentle vent, was able not only to see the Miss Dashwoods from the first without the smallest emotion, but very soon to see them without recollecting a word of the matter; and having thus supported the dignity of her own sex, and spoken her decided censure of what was wrong in the other, she thought herself at liberty to attend to the interest of her own assemblies, and therefore determined (though rather against the opinion of Sir John) that as Mrs. Willoughby would at once be a woman of elegance and fortune, to leave her card with her as soon as she married.

Colonel Brandon's delicate, unobtrusive enquiries were never unwelcome to Miss Dashwood. He had abundantly earned the privilege of intimate discussion of her sister's disappointment, by the friendly zeal with which he had endeavoured to soften it, and they always conversed with confidence. His chief reward for the painful exertion of disclosing past sorrows and present humiliations, was given in the pitying eye with which Marianne sometimes observed him, and the gentleness of her voice whenever (though it did not often happen) she was obliged, or could oblige herself to speak to him. THESE assured him that his exertion had produced an increase of good-will towards himself, and THESE gave Elinor hopes of its being farther augmented hereafter; but Mrs. Jennings, who knew nothing of all this, who knew only that the Colonel continued as grave as ever, and that she could neither prevail on him to make the offer himself, nor commission her to make it for him, began, at the end of two days, to think that, instead of Midsummer, they would not be married till Michaelmas, and by the end of a week that it would not be a match at all. The good understanding between the Colonel and Miss Dashwood seemed rather to declare that the honours of the mulberry-tree, the canal, and the yew arbour, would all be made over to HER; and Mrs. Jennings had, for some time ceased to think at all of Mrs. Ferrars.

Early in February, within a fortnight from the receipt of Willoughby's letter, Elinor had the painful office of informing her sister that he was married. She had taken care to have the intelligence conveyed to herself, as soon as it was known that the ceremony was over, as she was desirous that Marianne should not receive the first notice of it from the public papers, which she saw her eagerly examining every morning.

She received the news with resolute composure; made no observation on it, and at first shed no tears; but after a short time they would burst out, and for the rest of the day, she was in a state hardly less pitiable than when she first learnt to expect the event.

The Willoughbys left town as soon as they were married; and Elinor now hoped, as there could be no danger of her seeing either of them, to prevail on her sister, who had never yet left the house since the blow first fell, to go out again by degrees as she had done before.

About this time the two Miss Steeles, lately arrived at their cousin's house in Bartlett's Buildings, Holburn, presented themselves again before their more grand relations in Conduit and Berkeley Streets; and were welcomed by them all with great cordiality.

Elinor only was sorry to see them. Their presence always gave her pain, and she hardly knew how to make a very gracious return to the overpowering delight of Lucy in finding her still in town.

"I should have been quite disappointed if I had not found you here still," said she repeatedly, with a strong emphasis on the word. "But I always thought I should. I was almost sure you would not leave London yet awhile; though you told me, you know, at Barton, that you should not stay above a month. But I thought, at the time, that you would most likely change your mind when it came to the point. It would have been such a great pity to have went away before your brother and sister came. And now to be sure you will be in no hurry to be gone. I am amazingly glad you did not keep to your word."

Elinor perfectly understood her, and was forced to use all her self-command to make it appear that she did not.

"Well, my dear," said Mrs. Jennings, "and how did you travel?"

"Not in the stage, I assure you," replied Miss Steele, with quick exultation; "we came post all the way, and had a very smart beau to attend us. Dr. Davies was coming to town, and so we thought we'd join him in a post-chaise; and he behaved very genteelly, and paid ten or twelve shillings more than we did."

"Oh, oh!" cried Mrs. Jennings; "very pretty, indeed! and the Doctor is a single man, I warrant you."

"There now," said Miss Steele, affectedly simpering, "everybody laughs at me so about the Doctor, and I cannot think why. My cousins say they are sure I have made a conquest; but for my part I declare I never think about him from one hour's end to another. 'Lord! here comes your beau, Nancy,' my cousin said t'other day, when she saw him crossing the street to the house. My beau, indeed! said I—I cannot think who you mean. The Doctor is no beau of mine."

"Aye, aye, that is very pretty talking—but it won't do—the Doctor is the man, I see."

"No, indeed!" replied her cousin, with affected earnestness, "and I beg you will contradict it, if you ever hear it talked of."

Mrs. Jennings directly gave her the gratifying assurance that she certainly would not, and Miss Steele was made completely happy.

"I suppose you will go and stay with your brother and sister, Miss Dashwood, when they come to town," said Lucy, returning, after a cessation of hostile hints, to the charge.

"No, I do not think we shall."

"Oh, yes, I dare say you will."

Elinor would not humour her by farther opposition.

"What a charming thing it is that Mrs. Dashwood can spare you both for so long a time together!"

"Long a time, indeed!" interposed Mrs. Jennings. "Why, their visit is but just begun!"

Lucy was silenced.

"I am sorry we cannot see your sister, Miss Dashwood," said Miss Steele. "I am sorry she is not well—" for Marianne had left the room on their arrival.

"You are very good. My sister will be equally sorry to miss the pleasure of seeing you; but she has been very much plagued lately with nervous head-aches, which make her unfit for company or conversation."

"Oh, dear, that is a great pity! but such old friends as Lucy and me!—I think she might see US; and I am sure we would not speak a word."

Elinor, with great civility, declined the proposal. Her sister was perhaps laid down upon the bed, or in her dressing gown, and therefore not able to come to them.

"Oh, if that's all," cried Miss Steele, "we can just as well go and see her."

Elinor began to find this impertinence too much for her temper; but she was saved the trouble of checking it, by Lucy's sharp reprimand, which now, as on many occasions, though it did not give much sweetness to the manners of one sister, was of advantage in governing those of the other.



　　达什伍德小姐很快就把这次谈话的详细内容讲给妹妹听了，但是效果却不完全像她期待的那样明显。看样子，玛丽安并不是怀疑其中有任何不真实的成分，因为她自始至终都在聚精会神地恭顺地听着，既不提出异议，又不发表议论，也不为威洛比进行申辩，仿佛只是用眼泪表明，她觉得这是令人难以忍受的。不过，虽然她的这一举动使埃丽诺确信她的确认识到威洛比是有罪的；虽然她满意地看到她的话生效了，布兰登上校来访时，玛丽安不再回避他了，反而跟他说话，甚至主动搭话，而且对他怀有几分同情和尊敬；虽然她发现她不像以前那样喜怒无常；但是，却不见她的沮丧情绪有所好转。她的心倒是平静下来了，但依然是那样悲观失意。她觉得，发现威洛比完全失去了人格，比失去他的心更令人难以忍受。威洛比对威廉斯小姐的勾引和遗弃，那位可怜的姑娘的悲惨遭遇，以及对他—度可能对她自己抱有不良企图的怀疑，这一切加到一起，使她内心感到极其痛苦，甚至不敢向姐姐倾诉心曲。但她把悲伤闷在心里，比明言直语地及时吐露出来，更使姐姐感到痛苦。
　　要叙说达什伍德太太在收到和回复埃丽诺来信时的心情和言语，那就只消重述一遍她的女儿们先前的心情和言语：失望的痛苦不亚于玛丽安，愤慨之心甚至胜过埃丽诺。她接二连三地写来一封封长信，告诉她们她的痛苦心情和种种想法，表示她对玛丽安的百般忧虑，恳求她在不幸之中要有坚韧不拔的精神。做母亲的都劝她要坚强，可见玛丽安悲痛到何种地步！连母亲都希望女儿不要过于悔恨，可见造成这些悔恨的事端是多么不光彩！
　　达什伍德太太置个人的慰籍于不顾，断然决定：玛丽安目前在哪里都可以，就是别回巴顿。一回巴顿，她无论见到什么，都会想起过去，时时刻刻想着过去时常与威洛比相见的情景，结果会引起极大的悲痛，因而她劝说两位女儿千万不要缩短对詹宁斯太太的访问。她们访问的期限虽然从来没有明确说定，不过大家都期待她们至少待上五六个星期。在巴顿，一切都很单调，而在詹宁斯太太那里，却必然要遇上各种各样的活动，各种各样的事物，各种各样的朋友，她希望这有时能逗得玛丽安异乎寻常地发生几分兴趣，甚至感到几分乐趣，尽管这种想法现在可能遭到她的摈弃。
　　为了避免再次遇见威洛比，她母亲认为她呆在城里至少与呆在乡下一样保险，因为凡是自称是她的朋友的那些人，现在一定都断绝了与威洛比的来往。他们决不会再有意相逢了，即使出于疏忽，也决不会不期而遇。相比之下，伦敦熙熙攘攘的，相遇的可能性更小，而巴顿由于比较僻静，说不定在他婚后乘车走访艾伦汉的时候，硬是让玛丽安撞见呢。母亲开头预见这事很有可能，后来干脆认为这是笃定无疑的。
　　她希望女儿们呆在原地不动，也还有另外一个原因：约翰·达什伍德来信说，他和妻子二月中旬以前要进城，因此她觉得还是让她们有时间见见哥哥为好。
　　玛丽安早就答应按照母亲的意见行事，于是便老老实实地服从了，尽管这意见与她期望的大相径庭。她认为，这意见是建立在错误的基础上，实属大错特错。让她在伦敦继续呆下去，那就使她失去了减轻痛苦的唯一可能性，失去了母亲的直接同情，使她注定置身于这样的环境，专跟这种人打交道，叫她一时一刻不得安宁。
　　不过，使她感到大为欣慰的是，给她带来不幸的事情，却将给姐姐带来好处。但埃丽诺呢，她分明觉得无法完全避开爱德华，心里却在这样安慰自己：虽然在这里多呆下去会妨碍她自己的幸福，但对玛丽安说来，这比马上回德文郡要好。
　　她小心翼翼地保护着妹妹，不让她听见别人提起威洛比的名字，结果她的努力没有白费。玛丽安虽说对此全然不知，却从中受益不浅；因为不论詹宁斯太太也好，约翰爵士也好，甚至帕尔默夫人也好，从未在她面前说起过威洛比。埃丽诺真巴不得他们对她自己也有这般涵养功夫，然而这是不可能的，她不得不日复一日地听着他们一个个义愤填膺地声讨威洛比。
　　约翰爵士简直不敢相信会有这种事。“一个一向被我们看得起的人！一个如此温顺的人，我还以为英国没有一个比他更勇敢的骑手！这事真叫人莫名其妙。我真心希望他滚得远远的。我说什么也不会再跟他说一句话，见一次面，无论在哪里：不，即使在巴顿树林旁边一起呆上两个小时，我也不跟他说一句话。他竟是这么一个恶棍！这么不老实的一个无赖！我们上次见面时，我还提出送他一只富利小狗呢！现在只好不了了之！”
　　帕尔默夫人以她特有的方式，同样表示很气愤。“我决计马上和他断绝来往。谢天谢地，我其实从来没有和他结交过。我真心希望库姆大厦离克利夫兰别那么近，不过这也毫无关系，因为要去走访还嫌太远了些。我恨透他了，决心永远不再提起他的名字。我要逢人就说，我看他是个饭桶。”
　　帕尔默夫人的同情还表现在，尽力搜集有关那门即将操办的婚事的详细情况，然后转告给埃丽诺。她很快就能说出，新马车在哪一家马车铺建造，威洛比的画像由哪位画师绘制，格雷小姐的衣服在哪家衣料店里可以见到。
　　埃丽诺经常被人们吵吵嚷嚷的好意关怀搅得心烦意乱，这时，唯有米德尔顿夫人不闻不问、客客气气的，倒使她心里感到一些慰籍。在这帮朋友中，她尽可肯定至少有—个人对她不感兴趣，这个人见到她既不想打听那些细枝末节，又不担心她妹妹的健康状况，这对她委实是个莫大的安慰。
　　有时，不管什么资质，都会受到当时条件的作用，而被提到不应有的高度。埃丽诺有时穷在难以忍受那种过于殷勤的劝慰，于是便认为：要安慰人，上好的教养比上好的性情更加必不可少。
　　如果这件事经常被人提起，米德尔顿夫人每天也要表示一两次看法，说上一声：“真叫人震惊！”通过这种持续而文雅的表态，她不仅看到达什伍德家两位小姐从开头起就无动于衷，而且很快发现她们也只字不再提起此事。她如此这般地维护了她们女性的尊严，毫不含糊地指责了男性的过失之后，便觉得自己可以关心一下她的聚会了，于是决定（虽说违背了约翰爵士的意愿）：既然威洛比夫人马上要成为一个高雅阔绰的女人，她要等她一结婚，就向她送去名片。
　　布兰登上校体贴而谨慎的问候从不使达什伍德小姐感到厌烦。他一心一意地想减轻她妹妹的泪丧情绪，因而充分赢得了与她亲切交谈此事的特权，两人谈起来总是那样推心置腹。他沉痛地倾吐了他自己的旧怨新耻，得到的主要根答是，玛丽安有时常同情的目光望着他，而且每当（虽然并不常见）她被迫或主动同他说话时，语气总是那样温和。这些举动使他确信，他的努力增加了玛丽安对他的好感，而且给埃丽诺带来了希望，认为这好感今后还会进一步加深。然而詹宁斯太太对此一无所知，她只晓得上校仍然像以往那样郁郁寡欢，只晓得她绝对无法劝说他亲自出面求婚，他也绝对不会委托她代为说合。因此过了两天便开始琢磨：他们在夏至前是结不了婚啦，非得到米迦勒节不可。但过了一周之后，她又在思谋：这门婚事压根儿就办不成。上校和达什伍德小姐之间的情投意合似乎表明，享受那桑树、河渠和老紫杉树荫地的艳福要让给她了。一时间，詹宁斯太太竟然把费拉斯先生忘得一干二净。
　　二月初，就在玛丽安收到威洛比来信不到两个星期，埃丽诺不得不沉痛地告诉她，威洛比结婚了。她事先作了关照，让人一知道婚事办完了，就把消息转告给她，因为她看到玛丽安每天早晨都在焦虑不安地查看报纸，她不愿让她首先从报纸上得到这个消息。
　　玛丽安听到这一消息极其镇静，没说一句话，起初也没掉眼泪。可是过了一会儿，她又突然哭了起来，整个后半天，一直可怜巴巴的，那副形态简直不亚于她最初听说他们要结婚时的样子。
　　威洛比夫妇一结婚就离开了城里。埃丽诺见妹妹自从刚受到打击以来一直没出过门，而现在她又没有再见到威洛比夫妇的危险，便想动员她像以前那样，再逐渐到外面走走。
　　大约在这当儿，不久前才来到霍尔本巴特利特大楼表姐妹家做客的两位斯蒂尔小姐，又一次来到康迪特街和伯克利街拜访两门较为尊贵的亲戚，受到主人十分热情的欢迎。
　　唯独埃丽诺不愿见到她们。她们一出现，总要给她带来痛苦。露西见她还在城里，不由得喜不自禁，而埃丽诺简直无法作出礼貌周全的回应。
　　“我若是没有发现你还在这里，定会大失所望，”露西反复说道，把个“还”字咬得很重。“不过我总在想，我会见到你的，我几乎可以肯定，你一时半刻不会离开伦敦。你知道，你在巴顿对我说过，你在城里呆不过—个月。但是，我当时就在想，你到时候很可能改变主意。不等你哥嫂来就走，那太遗憾啦。现在嘛，你肯定不会急于要走啦。你没信守你的诺言，真叫我又惊又喜。”
　　埃丽诺完全明白她的意思，不得不尽力克制自己，装作像是全然不理解她这番话的含意似的。
　　“喂，亲爱的，”詹宁斯太太说，“你们是怎么来的？”
　　“老实对你说吧，我们没乘公共马车，”斯蒂尔小姐马上洋洋得重地答道，“我们一路上都是乘驿车来的，有个非常漂亮的小伙于照顾我们。戴维斯博士要进城，于是我们就想同他乘驿车一道来。他还真够体面的，比我们多付了十到十二个先令。”喔哟！”詹宁斯太太渠道，“真了不起：我向你担保，他还是个单身汉呢。”你们瞧，”斯蒂尔小姐装模作样地痴笑着说道。“每个人都这么拿博士跟我开玩笑，我想不出这是为什么。我的表妹们都说，我准是把他给征服了。不过，我要当众宣布：我可不是时时刻刻都在想着他。那天，表姨看见他穿过街道朝她家里走来，便对我说：‘天哪：你的意中人来了，南希。’我说：‘我的意中人，真的吗？我想不出你指谁。博士可不是我的意中人。’”
　　“哎呀，说得好听——不过没有用——我看他就是你的情郎。”
　　“不，的确不是！表侄女装出认真的样子答道。“你要是再听人这么议论，我求你给我辟辟谣。”
　　詹宁斯太太为了投合她的心意，当即向她保证说：她当然不会辟谣。斯蒂尔小姐听了心里简直乐开了花。
　　“达什伍德小姐，你哥嫂进城后，你们想必要去和他们团聚啦，”双方影射式的斗嘴中断了一阵之后，露西又发起了攻击。
　　“不，我想我们不会的。”
　　“哦，我敢说你们会的。”
　　埃丽诺不想迎合她再争执下去。
　　“真开心呀，达什伍德太太能让你们两个离开这么长时间！”
　　“时间哪儿长了，真是的！”詹宁斯太太插嘴说道。“怎么，她们的访问才刚刚开始呢！”
　　露西给说得哑口无言。
　　“很遗憾，达什伍德小姐，我们见不到你妹妹，”斯蒂尔小姐说。“很造憾，她身体不舒服。”原来，她们一来，玛丽安便走出房去。
　　“你真客气。我妹妹错过同你们的幸会，同样会感到很遗憾，不过她近来脑神经痛得厉害，不宜于会客说话。”
　　“噢，天哪，真是遗憾！不过露西和我都是老朋友啦：我想她会见我们的。我们管保不说一句话。”
　　埃丽诺非常客气地拒绝了这一建议。“我妹妹也许躺在床上，也许还穿着晨衣，因此不能来见你们。”
　　“喔，如果就是这些，”斯蒂尔小姐嚷道，“我们还是可以去看看她的。”
　　埃丽诺觉得这也太唐突无礼了，实在有点忍不住性子，不过，多亏露西厉声训斥了她姐姐一句，省得埃丽诺亲自出面制止。露西的这次训斥和在许多场合一样，虽然没给她的仪态带来多少可爱的感觉，却有效地遏制住了她姐姐的举动。 　
  
回复 引用 新鲜事
顶端
« 返回列表
发帖 回复