英語聽力 學(xué)英語,練聽力,上聽力課堂! 注冊 登錄
> 在線聽力 > 有聲讀物 > 世界名著 > 譯林版·曼斯菲爾德莊園 >  第9篇

雙語·曼斯菲爾德莊園 第一卷 第九章

所屬教程:譯林版·曼斯菲爾德莊園

瀏覽:

2022年04月28日

手機版
掃描二維碼方便學(xué)習(xí)和分享

Mr. Rushworth was at the door to receive his fair lady; and the whole party were welcomed by him with due attention. In the drawing-room they were met with equal cordiality by the mother, and Miss Bertram had all the distinction with each that she could wish. After the business of arriving was over, it was first necessary to eat, and the doors were thrown open to admit them through one or two intermediate rooms into the appointed dining-parlour, where a collation was prepared with abundance and elegance. Much was said, and much was ate, and all went well. The particular object of the day was then considered. How would Mr. Crawford like, in what manner would he choose, to take a survey of the grounds? Mr. Rushworth mentioned his curricle. Mr. Crawford suggested the greater desirableness of some carriage which might convey more than two. “To be depriving themselves of the advantage of other eyes and other judgments, might be an evil even beyond the loss of present pleasure.”

Mrs. Rushworth proposed that the chaise should be taken also; but this was scarcely received as an amendment; the young ladies neither smiled nor spoke. Her next proposition, of showing the house to such of them as had not been there before, was more acceptable, for Miss Bertram was pleased to have its size displayed, and all were glad to be doing something.

The whole party rose accordingly, and under Mrs. Rushworth's guidance were shown through a number of rooms, all lofty, and many large, and amply furnished in the taste of fifty years back, with shining floors, solid mahogany, rich damask, marble, gilding, and carving, each handsome in its way. Of pictures there were abundance, and some few good, but the larger part were family portraits, no longer anything to anybody but Mrs. Rushworth, who had been at great pains to learn all that the housekeeper could teach, and was now almost equally well qualified to show the house. On the present occasion she addressed herself chiefly to Miss Crawford and Fanny, but there was no comparison in the willingness of their attention; for Miss Crawford, who had seen scores of great houses, and cared for none of them, had only the appearance of civilly listening, while Fanny, to whom everything was almost as interesting as it was new, attended with unaffected earnestness to all that Mrs. Rushworth could relate of the family in former times, its rise and grandeur, regal visits and loyal efforts, delighted to connect anything with history already known, or warm her imagination with scenes of the past.

The situation of the house excluded the possibility of much prospect from any of the rooms; and while Fanny and some of the others were attending Mrs. Rushworth, Henry Crawford was looking grave and shaking his head at the windows. Every room on the west front looked across a lawn to the beginning of the avenue immediately beyond tall iron palisades and gates.

Having visited many more rooms than could be supposed to be of any other use than to contribute to the windowtax, and find employment for housemaids, “Now,” said Mrs. Rushworth, “we are coming to the chapel, which properly we ought to enter from above, and look down upon; but as we are quite among friends, I will take you in this way, if you will excuse me.”

They entered. Fanny's imagination had prepared her for something grander than a mere spacious, oblong room, fitted up for the purpose of devotion—with nothing more striking or more solemn than the profusion of mahogany, and the crimson velvet cushions appearing over the ledge of the family gallery above. “I am disappointed,” said she, in a low voice, to Edmund. “This is not my idea of a chapel. There is nothing awful here, nothing melancholy, nothing grand. Here are no aisles, no arches, no inscriptions, no banners. No banners, cousin, to be ‘blown by the night wind of Heaven.’ No signs that a ‘Scottish monarch sleeps below.’”

“You forget, Fanny, how lately all this has been built, and for how confined a purpose, compared with the old chapels of castles and monasteries. It was only for the private use of the family. They have been buried, I suppose, in the parish church.There you must look for the banners and the achievements.”

“It was foolish of me not to think of all that; but I am disappointed.”

Mrs. Rushworth began her relation. “This chapel was fitted up as you see it, in James the Second's time. Before that period, as I understand, the pews were only wainscot; and there is some reason to think that the linings and cushions of the pulpit and family-seat were only purple cloth; but this is not quite certain. It is a handsome chapel, and was formerly in constant use both morning and evening. Prayers were always read in it by the domestic chaplain, within the memory of many; but the late Mr. Rushworth left it off.”

“Every generation has its improvements,” said Miss Crawford, with a smile, to Edmund.

Mrs. Rushworth was gone to repeat her lesson to Mr. Crawford; and Edmund, Fanny, and Miss Crawford remained in a cluster together.

“It is a pity,” cried Fanny, “that the custom should have been discontinued. It was a valuable part of former times. There is something in a chapel and chaplain so much in character with a great house, with one's ideas of what such a household should be! A whole family assembling regularly for the purpose of prayer is fine!”

“Very fine indeed!” said Miss Crawford, laughing. “It must do the heads of the family a great deal of good to force all the poor housemaids and footmen to leave business and pleasure, and say their prayers here twice a day, while they are inventing excuses themselves for staying away.”

“That is hardly Fanny's idea of a family assembling,” said Edmund.“If the master and mistress do not attend themselves, there must be more harm than good in the custom.”

“At any rate, it is safer to leave people to their own devices on such subjects. Everybody likes to go their own way—to choose their own time and manner of devotion. The obligation of attendance, the formality, the restraint, the length of time—altogether it is a formidable thing, and what nobody likes; and if the good people who used to kneel and gape in that gallery could have foreseen that the time would ever come when men and women might lie another ten minutes in bed, when they woke with a headache, without danger of reprobation, because chapel was missed, they would have jumped with joy and envy. Cannot you imagine with what unwilling feelings the former belles of the house of Rushworth did many a time repair to this chapel? The young Mrs. Eleanors and Mrs. Bridgets—starched up into seeming piety, but with heads full of something very different—especially if the poor chaplain were not worth looking at—and, in those days, I fancy parsons were very inferior even to what they are now.”

For a few moments she was unanswered. Fanny coloured and looked at Edmund, but felt too angry for speech; and he needed a little recollection before he could say, “Your lively mind can hardly be serious even on serious subjects. You have given us an amusing sketch, and human nature cannot say it was not so. We must all feel at times the difficulty of fixing our thoughts as we could wish; but if you are supposing it a frequent thing, that is to say, a weakness grown into a habit from neglect, what could be expected from the private devotions of such persons? Do you think the minds which are suffered, which are indulged in wanderings in a chapel, would be more collected in a closet?”

“Yes, very likely. They would have two chances at least in their favour. There would be less to distract the attention from without, and it would not be tried so long.”

“The mind which does not struggle against itself under one circumstance, would find objects to distract it in the other, I believe; and the influence of the place and of example may often rouse better feelings than are begun with. The greater length of the service, however, I admit to be sometimes too hard a stretch upon the mind. One wishes it were not so—but I have not yet left Oxford long enough to forget what chapel prayers are.”

While this was passing, the rest of the party being scattered about the chapel, Julia called Mr. Crawford's attention to her sister, by saying, “Do look at Mr. Rushworth and Maria, standing side by side, exactly as if the ceremony were going to be performed. Have not they completely the air of it?”

Mr. Crawford smiled his acquiescence, and stepping forward to Maria, said, in a voice which she only could hear, “I do not like to see Miss Bertram so near the altar.”

Starting, the lady instinctively moved a step or two, but recovering herself in a moment, affected to laugh, and asked him, in a tone not much louder, “If he would give her away?”

“I am afraid I should do it very awkwardly,” was his reply, with a look of meaning.

Julia joining them at the moment, carried on the joke.

“Upon my word, it is really a pity that it should not take place directly, if we had but a proper licence, for here we are altogether, and nothing in the world could be more snug and pleasant.” And she talked and laughed about it with so little caution as to catch the comprehension of Mr. Rushworth and his mother, and expose her sister to the whispered gallantries of her lover, while Mrs. Rushworth spoke with proper smiles and dignity of its being a most happy event to her whenever it took place.

“If Edmund were but in orders!” cried Julia, and running to where he stood with Miss Crawford and Fanny; “My dear Edmund, if you were but in orders now, you might perform the ceremony directly. How unlucky that you are not ordained; Mr. Rushworth and Maria are quite ready.”

Miss Crawford's countenance, as Julia spoke, might have amused a disinterested observer. She looked almost aghast under the new idea she was receiving. Fanny pitied her. “How distressed she will be at what she said just now,” passed across her mind.

“Ordained!” said Miss Crawford; “what, are you to be a clergyman?”

“Yes; I shall take orders soon after my father's return—probably at Christmas.”

Miss Crawford, rallying her spirits, and recovering her complexion, replied only, “If I had known this before, I would have spoken of the cloth with more respect,” and turned the subject.

The chapel was soon afterwards left to the silence and stillness which reigned in it, with few interruptions, throughout the year. Miss Bertram, displeased with her sister, led the way, and all seemed to feel that they had been there long enough.

The lower part of the house had been now entirely shown, and Mrs. Rushworth, never weary in the cause, would have proceeded towards the principal staircase, and taken them through all the rooms above, if her son had not interposed with a doubt of there being time enough. “For if,” said he, with the sort of self-evident proposition which many a clearer head does not always avoid, “we are too long going over the house, we shall not have time for what is to be done out of doors. It is past two, and we are to dine at five.”

Mrs. Rushworth submitted; and the question of surveying the grounds, with the who and the how, was likely to be more fully agitated, and Mrs. Norris was beginning to arrange by what junction of carriages and horses most could be done, when the young people, meeting with an outward door, temptingly open on a flight of steps which led immediately to turf and shrubs, and all the sweets of pleasure-grounds, as by one impulse, one wish for air and liberty, all walked out.

“Suppose we turn down here for the present,” said Mrs. Rushworth, civilly taking the hint and following them. “Here are the greatest number of our plants, and here are the curious pheasants.”

“Query,” said Mr. Crawford, looking round him, “whether we may not find something to employ us here before we go farther? I see walls of great promise. Mr. Rushworth, shall we summon a council on this lawn?”

“James,” said Mrs. Rushworth to her son, “I believe the wilderness will be new to all the party. The Miss Bertrams have never seen the wilderness yet.”

No objection was made, but for some time there seemed no inclination to move in any plan, or to any distance. All were attracted at first by the plants or the pheasants, and all dispersed about in happy independence. Mr. Crawford was the first to move forward to examine the capabilities of that end of the house. The lawn, bounded on each side by a high wall, contained beyond the first planted area a bowling green, and beyond the bowling green a long terrace walk, backed by iron palisades, and commanding a view over them into the tops of the trees of the wilderness immediately adjoining. It was a good spot for fault-finding. Mr. Crawford was soon followed by Miss Bertram and Mr. Rushworth; and when, after a little time, the others began to form into parties, these three were found in busy consultation on the terrace by Edmund, Miss Crawford, and Fanny, who seemed as naturally to unite, and who, after a short participation of their regrets and difficulties, left them and walked on. The remaining three, Mrs. Rushworth, Mrs. Norris, and Julia, were still far behind; for Julia, whose happy star no longer prevailed, was obliged to keep by the side of Mrs. Rushworth, and restrain her impatient feet to that lady's slow pace, while her aunt, having fallen in with the housekeeper, who was come out to feed the pheasants, was lingering behind in gossip with her. Poor Julia, the only one out of the nine not tolerably satisfied with their lot, was now in a state of complete penance, and as different from the Julia of the barouche-box as could well be imagined. The politeness which she had been brought up to practise as a duty made it impossible for her to escape; while the want of that higher species of self-command, that just consideration of others, that knowledge of her own heart, that principle of right, which had not formed any essential part of her education, made her miserable under it.

“This is insufferably hot,” said Miss Crawford, when they had taken one turn on the terrace, and were drawing a second time to the door in the middle which opened to the wilderness. “Shall any of us object to being comfortable? Here is a nice little wood, if one can but get into it. What happiness if the door should not be locked! but of course it is; for in these great places the gardeners are the only people who can go where they like.”

The door, however, proved not to be locked, and they were all agreed in turning joyfully through it, and leaving the unmitigated glare of day behind. A considerable flight of steps landed them in the wilderness, which was a planted wood of about two acres, and though chiefly of larch and laurel, and beech cut down, and though laid out with too much regularity, was darkness and shade, and natural beauty, compared with the bowling green and the terrace. They all felt the refreshment of it, and for some time could only walk and admire. At length, after a short pause, Miss Crawford began with, “So you are to be a clergyman, Mr. Bertram. This is rather a surprise to me.”

“Why should it surprise you? You must suppose me designed for some profession, and might perceive that I am neither a lawyer, nor a soldier, nor a sailor.”

“Very true; but, in short, it had not occurred to me. And you know there is generally an uncle or a grandfather to leave a fortune to the second son.”

“A very praiseworthy practice,” said Edmund, “but not quite universal. I am one of the exceptions, and being one, must do something for myself.”

“But why are you to be a clergyman? I thought that was always the lot of the youngest, where there were many to choose before him.”

“Do you think the church itself never chosen, then?”

“Never is a black word. But yes, in the never of conversation, which means not very often, I do think it. For what is to be done in the church? Men love to distinguish themselves, and in either of the other lines distinction may be gained, but not in the church. A clergyman is nothing.”

“The nothing of conversation has its gradations, I hope, as well as the never. A clergyman cannot be high in state or fashion. He must not head mobs, or set the ton in dress. But I cannot call that situation nothing which has the charge of all that is of the first importance to mankind, individually or collectively considered, temporally and eternally—which has the guardianship of religion and morals, and consequently of the manners which result from their influence. No one here can call the office nothing. If the man who holds it is so, it is by the neglect of his duty, by foregoing its just importance, and stepping out of his place to appear what he ought not to appear.”

“You assign greater consequence to the clergyman than one has been used to hear given, or than I can quite comprehend. One does not see much of this influence and importance in society, and how can it be acquired where they are so seldom seen themselves? How can two sermons a week, even supposing them worth hearing, supposing the preacher to have the sense to prefer Blair's to his own, do all that you speak of, govern the conduct and fashion the manners of a large congregation for the rest of the week? One scarcely sees a clergyman out of his pulpit.”

“You are speaking of London, I am speaking of the nation at large.”

“The metropolis, I imagine, is a pretty fair sample of the rest.”

“Not, I should hope, of the proportion of virtue to vice throughout the kingdom. We do not look in great cities for our best morality. It is not there that respectable people of any denomination can do most good; and it certainly is not there that the influence of the clergy can be most felt. A fine preacher is followed and admired; but it is not in fine preaching only that a good clergyman will be useful in his parish and his neighbourhood, where the parish and neighbourhood are of a size capable of knowing his private character, and observing his general conduct, which in London can rarely be the case. The clergy are lost there in the crowds of their parishioners. They are known to the largest part only as preachers. And with regard to their influencing public manners, Miss Crawford must not misunderstand me, or suppose I mean to call them the arbiters of good breeding, the regulators of refinement and courtesy, the masters of the ceremonies of life. The manners I speak of might rather be called conduct, perhaps, the result of good principles; the effect, in short, of those doctrines which it is their duty to teach and recommend; and it will, I believe, be everywhere found, that as the clergy are, or are not what they ought to be, so are the rest of the nation.”

“Certainly,” said Fanny, with gentle earnestness.

“There,” cried Miss Crawford, “you have quite convinced Miss Price already.”

“I wish I could convince Miss Crawford too.”

“I do not think you ever will,” said she, with an arch smile; “I am just as much surprised now as I was at first that you should intend to take orders. You really are fit for something better. Come, do change your mind. It is not too late. Go into the law.”

“Go into the law! With as much ease as I was told to go into this wilderness.”

“Now you are going to say something about law being the worst wilderness of the two, but I forestall you; remember, I have forestalled you.”

“You need not hurry when the object is only to prevent my saying a bon-mot, for there is not the least wit in my nature. I am a very matter-of-fact, plain-spoken being, and may blunder on the borders of a repartee for half an hour together without striking it out.”

A general silence succeeded. Each was thoughtful. Fanny made the first interruption by saying, “I wonder that I should be tired with only walking in this sweet wood; but the next time we come to a seat, if it is not disagreeable to you, I should be glad to sit down for a little while.”

“My dear Fanny,” cried Edmund, immediately drawing her arm within his, “how thoughtless I have been! I hope you are not very tired. Perhaps,” turning to Miss Crawford, “my other companion may do me the honour of taking an arm.”

“Thank you, but I am not at all tired.” She took it, however, as she spoke, and the gratification of having her do so, of feeling such a connection for the first time, made him a little forgetful of Fanny. “You scarcely touch me,” said he. “You do not make me of any use. What a difference in the weight of a woman's arm from that of a man! At Oxford I have been a good deal used to have a man lean on me for the length of a street, and you are only a fly in the comparison.”

“I am really not tired, which I almost wonder at; for we must have walked at least a mile in this wood. Do not you think we have?”

“Not half a mile,” was his sturdy answer; for he was not yet so much in love as to measure distance, or reckon time, with feminine lawlessness.

“Oh! you do not consider how much we have wound about. We have taken such a very serpentine course; and the wood itself must be half a mile long in a straight line, for we have never seen the end of it yet since we left the first great path.”

“But if you remember, before we left that first great path, we saw directly to the end of it. We looked down the whole vista, and saw it closed by iron gates, and it could not have been more than a furlong in length.”

“Oh! I know nothing of your furlongs, but I am sure it is a very long wood, and that we have been winding in and out ever since we came into it; and therefore, when I say that we have walked a mile in it, I must speak within compass.”

“We have been exactly a quarter of an hour here,” said Edmund, taking out his watch. “Do you think we are walking four miles an hour?”

“Oh! do not attack me with your watch. A watch is always too fast or too slow. I cannot be dictated to by a watch.”

A few steps farther brought them out at the bottom of the very walk they had been talking of; and standing back, well shaded and sheltered, and looking over a ha-ha into the park, was a comfortable-sized bench, on which they all sat down.

“I am afraid you are very tired, Fanny,” said Edmund, observing her; “why would not you speak sooner? This will be a bad day's amusement for you if you are to be knocked up. Every sort of exercise fatigues her so soon, Miss Crawford, except riding.”

“How abominable in you, then, to let me engross her horse as I did all last week! I am ashamed of you and of myself, but it shall never happen again.”

“Your attentiveness and consideration make me more sensible of my own neglect. Fanny's interest seems in safer hands with you than with me.”

“That she should be tired now, however, gives me no surprise; for there is nothing in the course of one's duties so fatiguing as what we have been doing this morning—seeing a great house, dawdling from one room to another—straining one's eyes and one's attention—hearing what one does not understand—admiring what one does not care for. It is generally allowed to be the greatest bore in the world, and Miss Price has found it so, though she did not know it.”

“I shall soon be rested,” said Fanny; “to sit in the shade on a fine day, and look upon verdure, is the most perfect refreshment.”

After sitting a little while, Miss Crawford was up again. “I must move,” said she; “resting fatigues me. I have looked across the ha-ha till I am weary. I must go and look through that iron gate at the same view, without being able to see it so well.”

Edmund left the seat likewise. “Now, Miss Crawford, if you will look up the walk, you will convince yourself that it cannot be half a mile long, or half half a mile.”

“It is an immense distance,” said she; “I see that with a glance.”

He still reasoned with her, but in vain. She would not calculate, she would not compare. She would only smile and assert. The greatest degree of rational consistency could not have been more engaging, and they talked with mutual satisfaction. At last it was agreed that they should endeavour to determine the dimensions of the wood by walking a little more about it. They would go to one end of it, in the line they were then in (for there was a straight green walk along the bottom by the side of the ha-ha), and perhaps turn a little way in some other direction, if it seemed likely to assist them, and be back in a few minutes. Fanny said she was rested, and would have moved too, but this was not suffered. Edmund urged her remaining where she was with an earnestness which she could not resist, and she was left on the bench to think with pleasure of her cousin's care, but with great regret that she was not stronger. She watched them till they had turned the corner, and listened till all sound of them had ceased.

拉什沃思先生站在門口迎接他的漂亮姑娘,并禮儀周到地歡迎了其他人。到了客廳里,拉什沃思太太同樣熱誠地接待了大家。這母子倆對伯特倫小姐青眼有加,正合小姐心意。賓主見面一應(yīng)事宜結(jié)束之后,首先需要吃飯,于是門霍地開了,客人們穿過一兩個居間的房間進(jìn)入指定的餐廳,那里已備好了豐盛又講究的茶點。大家說了不少應(yīng)酬話,也吃了不少茶點,一切都很稱心。接著討論當(dāng)天特意要辦的那件事:克勞福德先生想要怎樣察看庭園,準(zhǔn)備怎么去?拉什沃思先生提出坐他的雙輪輕便馬車??藙诟5孪壬嶙h,最好乘一輛能坐兩個人以上的馬車。“只有我們兩人去,而不讓其他人去看看,聽聽他們的意見,那可能比失去現(xiàn)在的樂趣還要令人遺憾?!?/p>

拉什沃思太太建議把那輛輕便馬車也駕去,可是這個辦法不怎么受歡迎,姑娘們既無笑容,也不作聲。她的下一個建議是讓沒來過的人參觀一下大宅,這倒比較受歡迎,因為伯特倫小姐就喜歡顯擺一下大宅有多么宏偉,其他人也都高興有點事干。

于是眾人都立起身來,在拉什沃思太太的引導(dǎo)下,參觀了不少房間。這些房間全都是高屋子,許多是大房間,都按五十年前的風(fēng)尚加以裝飾:鋪著亮光光的地板,布置著堅實的紅木家具,有的罩著富麗的織花臺布,有的是大理石面,有的鍍金,有的刻花,各有各的妙處。有許許多多的畫,其中頗有一些好作品,不過大多是家族的畫像,除了拉什沃思太太之外,誰也不知道畫的是誰。拉什沃思太太可是下了一番功夫,才把女管家了解的情況全都學(xué)了過來,現(xiàn)在幾乎能像女管家一樣稱職地領(lǐng)人參觀大宅了。眼下,她主要是在向克勞福德小姐和范妮做介紹。不過,這兩人聽介紹的專注勁兒大相徑庭??藙诟5滦〗阋娺^不計其數(shù)的高門大宅,從不把哪一個放在心上,現(xiàn)在只是出于禮貌,裝出用心聽的樣子;而范妮則覺得樣樣?xùn)|西既新奇又有趣,便真摯而熱切地傾聽拉什沃思太太講解這個家族的過去,它的興起,它的榮耀,哪些君主駕臨過,這個家族里多少人為王室立過功。她樂滋滋地把一件件事與學(xué)過的歷史聯(lián)系起來,或者用過去的場面來活躍自己的想象。

這幢房子由于位置的問題,從哪個房間都看不到多少景色,因此,就在范妮等人跟著拉什沃思太太參觀,聽她講解介紹的時候,亨利·克勞福德板著副面孔,沖著一個個窗口直搖頭。從西部正面的每一個房間望出去,都是一片草地,再往前去是高高的鐵欄桿和大門,大門外邊是林蔭道的起點。

眾人又看了許多房間,這些房間你想象不出有什么用場,只不過是多貢獻(xiàn)些窗戶稅[1],讓女仆們有活可干罷了。這時,拉什沃思太太說道:“我們來到了禮拜堂,按規(guī)矩我們應(yīng)該從上邊往里進(jìn),由上往下看。不過我們都是自己人,你們要是不見怪,我就從這里帶你們進(jìn)去。”

大家走了進(jìn)去。范妮原來想象這該是個宏偉莊嚴(yán)的去處,不料卻只是一個長方形的大房間,根據(jù)做禮拜的需要做了些布置——除了到處都是紅木擺設(shè),樓上廊臺家族的座位上鋪著深紅色的天鵝絨墊子,再也沒有什么比較惹眼、比較莊嚴(yán)的東西了?!拔腋械绞彼那牡貙Π5旅烧f,“我想象中的禮拜堂不是這樣的。這兒沒有什么令人望而生畏的,沒有什么令人憂從中來的,沒有什么莊嚴(yán)的感覺。沒有過道,沒有拱形結(jié)構(gòu),沒有碑文,沒有旗幟。表哥,沒有旗幟讓‘天國的夜風(fēng)吹動’。沒有跡象表明一位‘蘇格蘭國君安息在下邊’。[2]”

“你忘記了,范妮,這都是近代建造的,與城堡、寺院里的古老禮拜堂相比,用途又非常有限。這只是供這個家族私人使用的。我想,那些先人都葬在教區(qū)的教堂墓地。你要看他們的旗號,了解他們的功績,應(yīng)該到那兒去找?!?/p>

“我真傻,沒考慮到這些情況,不過我還是感到失望?!?/p>

拉什沃思太太開始介紹了:“這個禮拜堂是詹姆斯二世[3]時期布置成現(xiàn)在這個樣子的。據(jù)我所知,在那之前,只是用壁板當(dāng)座位,而且有理由設(shè)想,講臺和家族座位的襯里和墊子都不過是紫布,不過這點還不是很確定。這是一個很美觀的禮拜堂,以前早上晚上經(jīng)常使用。許多人都還記得,家庭牧師常在里邊念禱文。但是,已故的拉什沃思先生把它給廢除了?!?/p>

“每一代都有所改進(jìn)。”克勞福德小姐笑吟吟地對埃德蒙說。

拉什沃思太太把她剛才那番話向克勞福德先生再說了一遍,埃德蒙、范妮和克勞福德小姐仍然待在一起。

“真可惜,”范妮嚷道,“這一風(fēng)尚居然中斷了。這是過去很可貴的一個習(xí)俗。有一個禮拜堂,有一個牧師,這對于一座大宅來說,對于人們想象中這種人家應(yīng)有的氣派來說,是多么的協(xié)調(diào)?。∫患胰税磿r聚在一起祈禱,這有多好?。 ?/p>

“的確很好??!”克勞福德小姐笑著說道,“這對主人們大有好處。他們可以強迫可憐的男仆女傭全都丟下活計和娛樂,一天到這兒做兩次祈禱,而他們自己卻可以找借口不來?!?/p>

“范妮所說的一家人聚在一起祈禱可不是這個意思。”埃德蒙說,“如果男女主人自己不參加,這樣的做法只能是弊大于利?!?/p>

“不管怎么說,在這種事情上,還是讓人們自行其是為好。誰都喜歡獨自行動——自己選擇表達(dá)虔誠的時間和方式。被迫參加,拘泥形式,局促刻板,每次又花那么長時間——總之是件可怕的事情,誰都反感的事情。過去那些跪在廊臺上打呵欠的虔誠的人,要是能預(yù)見終究會有這么一天,男男女女們頭昏腦漲地醒來后還可以在床上躺上十分鐘,也不會因沒有去禮拜堂而受人責(zé)備,他們會又高興又嫉妒地跳起來。拉什沃思世家從前的美人們?nèi)绾尾磺樵傅匾淮未蝸淼竭@座禮拜堂,你難道想象不出來嗎?年輕的埃麗諾太太們和布里杰特太太們——一本正經(jīng)地裝出虔誠篤信的樣子,但腦子里卻盡是別的念頭——尤其是可憐的牧師不值一瞧的時候——我想,在那個年代,牧師甚至遠(yuǎn)不如今天的牧師有地位?!?/p>

這番話說過之后,好久沒有人搭話。范妮臉紅了,兩眼盯著埃德蒙,氣得說不出話來。埃德蒙稍微鎮(zhèn)靜了一下,才說:“你的頭腦真活躍,即使談?wù)搰?yán)肅的問題也嚴(yán)肅不起來。你給我們描繪了一幅有趣的圖畫,就人之常情而言,這幅畫不能說不真實。我們每個人有時候都會感到難以像我們希望的那樣集中思想,但你若是認(rèn)為這種現(xiàn)象時常發(fā)生,也就是說,由于疏忽的緣故,這種弱點變成了習(xí)慣,那么這些人獨自做祈禱時又會怎么樣呢?難道你認(rèn)為一個放任自流的人,在禮拜堂里可以胡思亂想,到了私人祈禱室里就會集中思想嗎?”

“是的,很有可能。至少有兩個有利條件:一是來自外面的分散注意力的事情比較少,二是不會把祈禱的時間拖得那么長?!?/p>

“依我看,一個人在一種環(huán)境下不能約束自己,在另一種環(huán)境下也會分散注意力。由于環(huán)境的影響,別人虔誠禱告的影響,你往往會產(chǎn)生比一開始更虔誠的情感。不過我承認(rèn),做禮拜的時間拖得越長,人的注意力有時越難以集中。人們都希望不要這樣——不過我離開牛津還不算久,還記得禮拜堂做禱告的情形?!?/p>

就在這當(dāng)兒,其余的人分散到了禮拜堂各處。朱莉婭便讓克勞福德先生注意她姐姐,并對他說:“快看拉什沃思先生和瑪麗亞,兩人肩并肩地站在那兒,好像就要舉行婚禮似的。他們那副樣子難道不是不折不扣地像是要舉行婚禮的樣子嗎?”

克勞福德先生一邊笑了笑表示認(rèn)同,一邊走到瑪麗亞跟前,說了一聲:“我不愿意看見伯特倫小姐離圣壇這么近?!盵4]說話聲只有她一個人可以聽到。

這位小姐嚇了一跳,本能地挪開了一兩步,不過馬上又鎮(zhèn)靜下來,強作笑顏地問:“要是你愿意把我交給新郎呢?”[5]說話聲比克勞福德先生的大不了多少。

“讓我來交,我恐怕會搞得很尷尬的?!笨藙诟5孪壬鸬溃樕下冻鲆馕渡铋L的神情。

這時朱莉婭來到他們跟前,把這個玩笑繼續(xù)開下去。

“說實話,不能馬上舉行婚禮實在遺憾。要是有一張正式的結(jié)婚證就好了,因為我們大家都在這兒,真是再恰當(dāng)再有趣不過了?!敝炖驄I毫無顧忌地又說又笑,拉什沃思先生和他母親也聽出了她話里的意思。拉什沃思先生便悄聲對她姐姐講起了溫情細(xì)語,拉什沃思太太面帶恰到好處的微笑和得體的尊嚴(yán)說,不管什么時候舉行,她都覺得這是一件極其快樂的事情。

“要是埃德蒙當(dāng)上牧師就好了!”朱莉婭一邊大聲說道,一邊朝埃德蒙、克勞福德小姐和范妮站的地方跑去,“親愛的埃德蒙,假如你現(xiàn)在就是牧師,你就可以馬上主持婚禮了。真遺憾,你還沒有接受圣職,而拉什沃思先生和瑪麗亞已經(jīng)萬事俱備了?!?/p>

朱莉婭說話的時候,在一個沒有利害關(guān)系的旁觀者看來,克勞福德小姐的神情還蠻有意思的。聽到這從未想到過的事情后,克勞福德小姐差不多給嚇呆了。范妮對她憐憫起來,心想:“她聽到朱莉婭剛才說的話,心里該有多難受?。 ?/p>

“接受圣職!”克勞福德小姐說,“怎么,你要當(dāng)牧師?”

“是的,等我父親回來,我很快就會擔(dān)任圣職——可能在圣誕節(jié)。”

克勞福德小姐鎮(zhèn)定了一會兒,恢復(fù)了平常的神態(tài),只回答了一句:“我要是早點兒知道這件事,剛才講到牧師的時候會更尊敬一些?!彪S即便轉(zhuǎn)入別的話題。

過了不久,大家都出來了,禮拜堂又恢復(fù)了它那長年很少受人打擾的寂靜。伯特倫小姐生她妹妹的氣,最先走開了,其余的人似乎覺得在那里待得夠久了。

大宅的第一層全讓客人看過了。拉什沃思太太做起這件事來從來不會厭倦,要不是她兒子怕時間來不及,中途阻止了,她還要奔向主樓梯,領(lǐng)客人參觀樓上的所有房間。拉什沃思先生提議說:“我們看房子用的時間太長了,就沒有時間去戶外參觀了。現(xiàn)在已經(jīng)兩點多了,五點鐘要吃飯?!边@是明擺著的事,凡是頭腦比較清醒的人,免不了都會提出來。

拉什沃思太太接受了兒子的意見。關(guān)于參觀庭園的問題,包括怎樣去,哪些人去,都可能引起更激烈的爭論。諾里斯太太已開始籌劃用什么馬套什么車最好。這時候,年輕人已來到通向戶外的門口,門外下了臺階便是草地和灌木林,以及富有種種樂趣的游樂場,而且門開著在引誘他們。大家好像心里一沖動,都想換換空氣,自由活動一番,便一起走了出去。

“我們就從這兒下去吧,”拉什沃思太太說道,頗為客氣地順從了眾人的意思,跟著走了出去,“我們的大多數(shù)花木都在這兒,這兒有珍奇的野雞。”

“請問,”克勞福德先生環(huán)顧左右說,“我們是否可以看看這兒有沒有什么地方需要改造,然后再往前走?我看這些墻上便可大做文章。拉什沃思先生,我們就在這塊草地上開個會怎么樣?”

“詹姆斯,”拉什沃思太太對兒子說,“我想那片荒苑[6]會讓大家覺得很新鮮。兩位伯特倫小姐還沒看過那片荒苑呢?!?/p>

沒有人提出異議,可是有好一陣子,大家似乎既不想按什么計劃行動,也不想往什么地方去。一個個從一開始就被花木或野雞吸引住了,接著,就高高興興各自散開了。克勞福德先生第一個向前走去,想看看房子這頭可以有什么作為。草地的四周有高墻圍著。第一塊花木區(qū)過去是草地滾木球場,過了滾木球場是一條長長的階徑,再過去是鐵柵欄,越過柵欄可以看到毗鄰的荒苑上的樹梢。這是個給庭園找缺陷的好地方??藙诟5孪壬鷦偟讲痪?,伯特倫小姐和拉什沃思先生便跟上來了,隨后其他人也分別組合在一起。這當(dāng)兒,埃德蒙、克勞福德小姐和范妮走在一

用戶搜索

瘋狂英語 英語語法 新概念英語 走遍美國 四級聽力 英語音標(biāo) 英語入門 發(fā)音 美語 四級 新東方 七年級 賴世雄 zero是什么意思臨沂市河村盛景花苑英語學(xué)習(xí)交流群

  • 頻道推薦
  • |
  • 全站推薦
  • 推薦下載
  • 網(wǎng)站推薦