高級英語教材第九課
先讀課文﹕
The Tenant of Wildfell Hall
by Anne Bronte
Chapter 1
You must go back with me to the autumn of 1827.
My father, as you know, was a sort of gentleman farmer in -shire; and I,
by his express desire, succeeded him in the same quiet occupation, not very
willingly, for ambition urged me to higher aims, and self-conceit assured
me that, in disregarding its voice, I was burying my talent in the earth,
and hiding my light under a bushel. My mother had done her utmost to persuade
me that I was capable of great achievements; but my father, who thought
ambition was the surest road to ruin, and change but another word for destruction,
would listen to no scheme for bettering either my own condition, or that
of my fellow mortals. He assured me it was all rubbish, and exhorted me,
with his dying breath, to continue in the good old way, to follow his steps,
and those of his father before him, and let my highest ambition be to walk
honestly through the world, looking neither to the right hand nor to the
left, and to transmit the paternal acres to my children in, at least, as
flourishing a condition as he left them to me.
'Well! - an honest and industrious farmer is one of the most useful members
of society; and if I devote my talents to the cultivation of my farm, and
the improvement of agriculture in general, I shall thereby benefit, not
only my own immediate connections and dependants, but, in some degree, mankind
at large:- hence I shall not have lived in vain.' With such reflections as
these I was endeavouring to console myself, as I plodded home from the fields,
one cold, damp, cloudy evening towards the close of October. But the gleam
of a bright red fire through the parlour window had more effect in cheering
my spirits, and rebuking my thankless repinings, than all the sage reflections
and good resolutions I had forced my mind to frame; - for I was young then,
remember - only four-and-twenty - and had not acquired half the rule over
my own spirit that I now possess - trifling as that may be.
However, that haven of bliss must not be entered till I had exchanged my
miry boots for a clean pair of shoes, and my rough surtout for a respectable
coat, and made myself generally presentable before decent society; for my
mother, with all her kindness, was vastly particular on certain points.
In ascending to my room I was met upon the stairs by a smart, pretty girl
of nineteen, with a tidy, dumpy figure, a round face, bright, blooming cheeks,
glossy, clustering curls, and little merry brown eyes. I need not tell
you this was my sister Rose. She is, I know, a comely matron still, and,
doubtless, no less lovely - in your eyes - than on the happy day you first
beheld her. Nothing told me then that she, a few years hence, would be the
wife of one entirely unknown to me as yet, but destined hereafter to become
a closer friend than even herself, more intimate than that unmannerly lad
of seventeen, by whom I was collared in the passage, on coming down, and
well-nigh jerked off my equilibrium, and who, in correction for his impudence,
received a resounding whack over the sconce, which, however, sustained
no serious injury from the infliction; as, besides being more than commonly
thick, it was protected by a redundant shock of short, reddish curls, that
my mother called auburn.
On entering the parlour we found that honoured lady seated in her arm-chair
at the fireside, working away at her knitting, according to her usual custom,
when she had nothing else to do. She had swept the hearth, and made a bright
blazing fire for our reception; the servant had just brought in the tea-tray;
and Rose was producing the sugar-basin and tea-caddy from the cupboard in
the black oak side-board, that shone like polished ebony, in the cheerful
parlour twilight.
'Well! here they both are,' cried my mother, looking round upon us without
retarding the motion of her nimble fingers and glittering needles. 'Now
shut the door, and come to the fire, while Rose gets the tea ready; I'm
sure you must be starved; - and tell me what you've been about all day;
- I like to know what my children have been about.'
'I've been breaking in the grey colt - no easy business that - directing
the ploughing of the last wheat stubble - for the ploughboy has not the
sense to direct himself - and carrying out a plan for the extensive and
efficient draining of the low meadowlands.'
'That's my brave boy! - and Fergus, what have you been doing?'
'Badger-baiting.'
And here he proceeded to give a particular account of his sport, and the
respective traits of prowess evinced by the badger and the dogs; my mother
pretending to listen with deep attention, and watching his animated countenance
with a degree of maternal admiration I thought highly disproportioned to
its object.
'It's time you should be doing something else, Fergus,' said I, as soon
as a momentary pause in his narration allowed me to get in a word.
'What can I do?' replied he; 'my mother won't let me go to sea or enter
the army; and I'm determined to do nothing else - except make myself such
a nuisance to you all, that you will be thankful to get rid of me on any
terms.'
Our parent soothingly stroked his stiff, short curls. He growled, and tried
to look sulky, and then we all took our seats at the table, in obedience
to the thrice-repeated summons of Rose.
'Now take your tea,' said she; 'and I'll tell you what I've been doing.
I've been to call on the Wilsons; and it's a thousand pities you didn't
go with me, Gilbert, for Eliza Millward was there!'
'Well! what of her?'
'Oh, nothing! - I'm not going to tell you about her; - only that she's a
nice, amusing little thing, when she is in a merry humour, and I shouldn't
mind calling her - '
'Hush, hush, my dear! your brother has no such idea!' whispered my mother
earnestly, holding up her finger.
'Well,' resumed Rose; 'I was going to tell you an important piece of news
I heard there - I have been bursting with it ever since. You know it was
reported a month ago, that somebody was going to take Wildfell Hall - and
- what do you think? It has actually been inhabited above a week! - and
we never knew!'
'Impossible!' cried my mother.
'Preposterous!!!' shrieked Fergus.
'It has indeed! - and by a single lady!'
'Good gracious, my dear! The place is in ruins!'
'She has had two or three rooms made habitable; and there she lives, all
alone - except an old woman for a servant!'
'Oh, dear! that spoils it - I'd hoped she was a witch,' observed Fergus,
while carving his inch-thick slice of bread and butter.
'Nonsense, Fergus! But isn't it strange, mamma?'
'Strange! I can hardly believe it.'
'But you may believe it; for Jane Wilson has seen her. She went with her
mother, who, of course, when she heard of a stranger being in the neighbourhood,
would be on pins and needles till she had seen her and got all she could
out of her. She is called Mrs. Graham, and she is in mourning - not widow's
weeds, but slightish mourning - and she is quite young, they say, - not
above five or six and twenty, - but so reserved! They tried all they could
to find out who she was and where she came from, and, all about her, but
neither Mrs. Wilson, with her pertinacious and impertinent home-thrusts,
nor Miss Wilson, with her skilful manoeuvring, could manage to elicit a
single satisfactory answer, or even a casual remark, or chance expression
calculated to allay their curiosity, or throw the faintest ray of light upon
her history, circumstances, or connections. Moreover, she was barely civil
to them, and evidently better pleased to say 'good-by,' than 'how do you
do.' But Eliza Millward says her father intends to call upon her soon, to
offer some pastoral advice, which he fears she needs, as, though she is known
to have entered the neighbourhood early last week. She did not make her appearance
at church on Sunday; and she - Eliza, that is - will beg to accompany him,
and is sure she can succeed in wheedling something out of her - you know,
Gilbert, she can do anything. And we should call some time, mamma; it's
only proper, you know.'
'Of course, my dear. Poor thing! How lonely she must feel!'
'And pray, be quick about it; and mind you bring me word how much sugar
she puts in her tea, and what sort of caps and aprons she wears, and all
about it; for I don't know how I can live till I know,' said Fergus, very
gravely.
But if he intended the speech to be hailed as a master-stroke of wit, he
signally failed, for nobody laughed. However, he was not much disconcerted
at that; for when he had taken a mouthful of bread and butter and was about
to swallow a gulp of tea, the humour of the thing burst upon him with such
irresistible force, that he was obliged to jump up from the table, and rush
snorting and choking from the room; and a minute after, was heard screaming
in fearful agony in the garden.
As for me, I was hungry, and contented myself with silently demolishing
the tea, ham, and toast, while my mother and sister went on talking, and
continued to discuss the apparent or non-apparent circumstances, and probable
or improbable history of the mysterious lady; but I must confess that, after
my brother's misadventure, I once or twice raised the cup to my lips, and
put it down again without daring to taste the contents, lest I should injure
my dignity by a similar explosion.
The next day my mother and Rose hastened to pay their compliments to the
fair recluse; and came back but little wiser than they went; though my mother
declared she did not regret the journey, for if she had not gained much
good, she flattered herself she had imparted some, and that was better:
she had given some useful advice, which, she hoped, would not be thrown away;
for Mrs. Graham, though she said little to any purpose, and appeared somewhat
self-opinionated, seemed not incapable of reflection, - though she did not
know where she had been all her life, poor thing, for she betrayed a lamentable
ignorance on certain points, and had not even the sense to be ashamed of
it.
'On what points, mother?' asked I.
'On household matters, and all the little niceties of cookery, and such
things, that every lady ought to be familiar with, whether she be required
to make a practical use of her knowledge or not. I gave her some useful
pieces of information, however, and several excellent receipts, the value
of which she evidently could not appreciate, for she begged I would not trouble
myself, as she lived in such a plain, quiet way, that she was sure she should
never make use of them. "No matter, my dear," said I; "it is what every
respectable female ought to know; - and besides, though you are alone now,
you will not be always so; you have been married, and probably - I might
say almost certainly - will be again." "You are mistaken there, ma'am," said
she, almost haughtily; "I am certain I never shall." - But I told her I
knew better.'
'Some romantic young widow, I suppose,' said I, 'come there to end her days
in solitude, and mourn in secret for the dear departed - but it won't last
long.'
'No, I think not,' observed Rose; 'for she didn't seem very disconsolate
after all; and she's excessively pretty - handsome rather - you must see
her, Gilbert; you will call her a perfect beauty, though you could hardly
pretend to discover a resemblance between her and Eliza Millward.'
'Well, I can imagine many faces more beautiful than Eliza's, though not
more charming. I allow she has small claims to perfection; but then, I maintain
that, if she were more perfect, she would be less interesting.'
'And so you prefer her faults to other people's perfections?'
'Just so - saving my mother's presence.'
'Oh, my dear Gilbert, what nonsense you talk! - I know you don't mean it;
it's quite out of the question,' said my mother, getting up, and bustling
out of the room, under pretence of household business, in order to escape
the contradiction that was trembling on my tongue.
After that Rose favoured me with further particulars respecting Mrs. Graham.
Her appearance, manners, and dress, and the very furniture of the room she
inhabited, were all set before me, with rather more clearness and precision
than I cared to see them; but, as I was not a very attentive listener, I
could not repeat the description if I would.
The next day was Saturday; and, on Sunday, everybody wondered whether or
not the fair unknown would profit by the vicar's remonstrance, and come
to church. I confess I looked with some interest myself towards the old
family pew, appertaining to Wildfell Hall, where the faded crimson cushions
and lining had been unpressed and unrenewed so many years, and the grim escutcheons,
with their lugubrious borders of rusty black cloth, frowned so sternly from
the wall above. |
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发表于 2011-11-4 13:54:45
