雙語·曼斯菲爾德莊園 第三卷 第三章

Edmund had great things to hear on his return. Many surprises were awaiting him. The first that occurred was not least in interest: the appearance of Henry Crawford and his sister walking together through the village as he rode into it. He had concluded—he had meant them to be far distant. His absence had been extended beyond a fortnight purposely to avoid Miss Crawford. He was returning to Mansfield with spirits ready to feed on melancholy remembrances, and tender associations, when her own fair self was before him, leaning on her brother's arm, and he found himself receiving a welcome, unquestionably friendly, from the woman whom, two moments before, he had been thinking of as seventy miles off, and as farther, much farther, from him in inclination than any distance could express.

Her reception of him was of a sort which he could not have hoped for, had he expected to see her. Coming as he did from such a purport fulfilled as had taken him away, he would have expected anything rather than a look of satisfaction, and words of simple, pleasant meaning. It was enough to set his heart in a glow, and to bring him home in the properest state for feeling the full value of the other joyful surprises at hand.

William's promotion, with all its particulars, he was soon master of; and with such a secret provision of comfort within his own breast to help the joy, he found in it a source of most gratifying sensation and unvarying cheerfulness all dinner time.

After dinner, when he and his father were alone, he had Fanny's history; and then all the great events of the last fortnight, and the present situation of matters at Mansfield were known to him.

Fanny suspected what was going on. They sat so much longer than usual in the dining parlour, that she was sure they must be talking of her; and when tea at last brought them away, and she was to be seen by Edmund again, she felt dreadfully guilty. He came to her, sat down by her, took her hand, and pressed it kindly; and at that moment she thought that, but for the occupation and the scene which the tea things afforded, she must have betrayed her emotion in some unpardonable excess.

He was not intending, however, by such action, to be conveying to her that unqualified approbation and encouragement which her hopes drew from it. It was designed only to express his participation in all that interested her, and to tell her that he had been hearing what quickened every feeling of affection. He was, in fact, entirely on his father's side of the question. His surprise was not so great as his father's at her refusing Crawford, because, so far from supposing her to consider him with anything like a preference, he had always believed it to be rather the reverse, and could imagine her to be taken perfectly unprepared, but Sir Thomas could not regard the connection as more desirable than he did. It had every recommendation to him, and while honouring her for what she had done under the influence of her present indifference, honouring her in rather stronger terms than Sir Thomas could quite echo, he was most earnest in hoping, and sanguine in believing, that it would be a match at last, and that, united by mutual affection, it would appear that their dispositions were as exactly fitted to make them blessed in each other, as he was now beginning seriously to consider them. Crawford had been too precipitate. He had not given her time to attach herself. He had begun at the wrong end. With such powers as his, however, and such a disposition as hers, Edmund trusted that everything would work out a happy conclusion. Meanwhile, he saw enough of Fanny's embarrassment to make him scrupulously guard against exciting it a second time, by any word, or look, or movement.

Crawford called the next day, and on the score of Edmund's return, Sir Thomas felt himself more than licensed to ask him to stay dinner; it was really a necessary compliment. He stayed of course, and Edmund had then ample opportunity for observing how he sped with Fanny, and what degree of immediate encouragement for him might be extracted from her manners; and it was so little, so very, very little—every chance, every possibility of it, resting upon her embarrassment only, if there was not hope in her confusion, there was hope in nothing else—that he was almost ready to wonder at his friend's perseverance. Fanny was worth it all; he had her to be worth every effort of patience, every exertion of mind—but he did not think he could have gone on himself with any woman breathing, without something more to warm his courage than his eyes could discern in hers. He was very willing to hope that Crawford saw clearer; and this was the most comfortable conclusion for his friend that he could come to from all that he observed to pass before, and at, and after dinner.

In the evening a few circumstances occurred which he thought more promising. When he and Crawford walked into the drawing-room, his mother and Fanny were sitting as intently and silently at work as if there were nothing else to care for. Edmund could not help noticing their apparently deep tranquillity.

“We have not been so silent all the time,” replied his mother. “Fanny has been reading to me, and only put the book down upon hearing you coming.” And sure enough there was a book on the table which had the air of being very recently closed, a volume of Shakespeare. “She often reads to me out of those books; and she was in the middle of a very fine speech of that man's—What's his name, Fanny? —when we heard your footsteps.”

Crawford took the volume. “Let me have the pleasure of finishing that speech to your ladyship,” said he. “I shall find it immediately.” And by carefully giving way to the inclination of the leaves, he did find it, or within a page or two, quite near enough to satisfy Lady Bertram, who assured him, as soon as he mentioned the name of Cardinal Wolsey, that he had got the very speech. Not a look or an offer of help had Fanny given; not a syllable for or against. All her attention was for her work. She seemed determined to be interested by nothing else. But taste was too strong in her. She could not abstract her mind five minutes; she was forced to listen; his reading was capital, and her pleasure in good reading extreme. To good reading, however, she had been long used; her uncle read well—her cousins all—Edmund very well, but in Mr. Crawford's reading there was a variety of excellence beyond what she had ever met with. The King, the Queen, Buckingham, Wolsey, Cromwell, all were given in turn; for with the happiest knack, the happiest power of jumping and guessing, he could always light, at will, on the best scene, or the best speeches of each; and whether it were dignity, or pride, or tenderness, or remorse, or whatever were to be expressed, he could do it with equal beauty. It was truly dramatic. His acting had first taught Fanny what pleasure a play might give, and his reading brought all his acting before her again; nay, perhaps with greater enjoyment, for it came unexpectedly, and with no such drawback as she had been used to suffer in seeing him on the stage with Miss Bertram.

Edmund watched the progress of her attention, and was amused and gratified by seeing how she gradually slackened in the needlework, which at the beginning seemed to occupy her totally; how it fell from her hand while she sat motionless over it—and at last, how the eyes which had appeared so studiously to avoid him throughout the day were turned and fixed on Crawford, fixed on him for minutes, fixed on him, in short, till the attraction drew Crawford's upon her, and the book was closed, and the charm was broken. Then she was shrinking again into herself, and blushing and working as hard as ever; but it had been enough to give Edmund encouragement for his friend, and as he cordially thanked him, he hoped to be expressing Fanny's secret feelings too.

“That play must be a favourite with you,” said he; “you read as if you knew it well.”

“It will be a favourite, I believe, from this hour,” replied Crawford; “but I do not think I have had a volume of Shakespeare in my hand before since I was fifteen. I once saw Henry VIII acted. Or I have heard of it from somebody who did—I am not certain which. But Shakespeare one gets acquainted with without knowing how. It is a part of an Englishman's constitution. His thoughts and beauties are so spread abroad that one touches them everywhere; one is intimate with him by instinct. No man of any brain can open at a good part of one of his plays without falling into the flow of his meaning immediately.”

“No doubt one is familiar with Shakespeare in a degree,” said Edmund, “from one's earliest years. His celebrated passages are quoted by everybody; they are in half the books we open, and we all talk Shakespeare, use his similes, and describe with his descriptions; but this is totally distinct from giving his sense as you gave it. To know him in bits and scraps is common enough; to know him pretty thoroughly is, perhaps, not uncommon; but to read him well aloud is no everyday talent.”

“Sir, you do me honour,” was Crawford's answer, with a bow of mock gravity.

Both gentlemen had a glance at Fanny, to see if a word of accordant praise could be extorted from her; yet both feeling that it could not be. Her praise had been given in her attention; that must content them.

Lady Bertram's admiration was expressed, and strongly too. “It was really like being at a play,” said she. “I wish Sir Thomas had been here.”

Crawford was excessively pleased. If Lady Bertram, with all her incompetency and languor, could feel this, the inference of what her niece, alive and enlightened as she was, must feel, was elevating.

“You have a great turn for acting, I am sure, Mr. Crawford,” said her ladyship soon afterwards; “and I will tell you what, I think you will have a theatre, some time or other, at your house in Norfolk. I mean when you are settled there. I do indeed. I think you will fit up a theatre at your house in Norfolk.”

“Do you, Ma'am?” cried he, with quickness. “No, no, that will never be. Your ladyship is quite mistaken. No theatre at Everingham! Oh! no,” And he looked at Fanny with an expressive smile, which evidently meant, “that lady will never allow a theatre at Everingham.”

Edmund saw it all, and saw Fanny so determined not to see it, as to make it clear that the voice was enough to convey the full meaning of the protestation; and such a quick consciousness of compliment, such a ready comprehension of a hint, he thought, was rather favourable than not.

The subject of reading aloud was farther discussed. The two young men were the only talkers, but they, standing by the fire, talked over the too common neglect of the qualification, the total inattention to it, in the ordinary school system for boys, the consequently natural—yet in some instances almost unnatural, degree of ignorance and uncouthness of men, of sensible and well-informed men, when suddenly called to the necessity of reading aloud, which had fallen within their notice, giving instances of blunders, and failures with their secondary causes, the want of management of the voice, of proper modulation and emphasis, of foresight and judgment, all proceeding from the first cause, want of early attention and habit; and Fanny was listening again with great entertainment.

“Even in my profession,” said Edmund, with a smile, “how little the art of reading has been studied! How little a clear manner, and good delivery, have been attended to! I speak rather of the past, however, than the present. There is now a spirit of improvement abroad; but among those who were ordained twenty, thirty, forty years ago, the larger number, to judge by their performance, must have thought reading was reading, and preaching was preaching. It is different now. The subject is more justly considered. It is felt that distinctness and energy may have weight in recommending the most solid truths; and besides, there is more general observation and taste, a more critical knowledge diffused than formerly; in every congregation there is a larger proportion who know a little of the matter, and who can judge and criticise.”

Edmund had already gone through the service once since his ordination; and upon this being understood, he had a variety of questions from Crawford as to his feelings and success; questions, which being made—though with the vivacity of friendly interest and quick taste—without any touch of that spirit of banter or air of levity which Edmund knew to be most offensive to Fanny, he had true pleasure in satisfying; and when Crawford proceeded to ask his opinion and give his own as to the properest manner in which particular passages in the service should be delivered, showing it to be a subject on which he had thought before, and thought with judgment, Edmund was still more and more pleased. This would be the way to Fanny's heart. She was not to be won by all that gallantry and wit and good nature together could do; or, at least, she would not be won by them nearly so soon, without the assistance of sentiment and feeling, and seriousness on serious subjects.

“Our liturgy,” observed Crawford, “has beauties, which not even a careless, slovenly style of reading can destroy; but it has also redundancies and repetitions which require good reading not to be felt. For myself, at least, I must confess being not always so attentive as I ought to be” (here was a glance at Fanny) “that nineteen times out of twenty I am thinking how such a prayer ought to be read, and longing to have it to read myself—Did you speak?” stepping eagerly to Fanny, and addressing her in a softened voice; and upon her saying “No,” he added, “Are you sure you did not speak? I saw your lips move. I fancied you might be going to tell me I ought to be more attentive, and not allow my thoughts to wander. Are not you going to tell me so?”

“No, indeed, you know your duty too well for me to—even supposing—”

She stopped, felt herself getting into a puzzle, and could not be prevailed on to add another word, not by dint of several minutes of supplication and waiting. He then returned to his former station, and went on as if there had been no such tender interruption.

“A sermon, well delivered, is more uncommon even than prayers well read. A sermon, good in itself, is no rare thing. It is more difficult to speak well than to compose well; that is, the rules and trick of composition are oftener an object of study. A thoroughly good sermon, thoroughly well delivered, is a capital gratification. I can never hear such a one without the greatest admiration and respect, and more than half a mind to take orders and preach myself. There is something in the eloquence of the pulpit, when it is really eloquence, which is entitled to the highest praise and honour. The preacher who can touch and affect such an heterogeneous mass of hearers, on subjects limited, and long worn threadbare in all common hands; who can say anything new or striking, anything that rouses the attention without offending the taste, or wearing out the feelings of his hearers, is a man whom one could not, in his public capacity, honour enough. I should like to be such a man.”

Edmund laughed.

“I should indeed. I never listened to a distinguished preacher in my life without a sort of envy. But then, I must have a London audience. I could not preach but to the educated; to those who were capable of estimating my composition. And I do not know that I should be fond of preaching often; now and then, perhaps once or twice in the spring, after being anxiously expected for half a dozen Sundays together; but not for a constancy; it would not do for a constancy.”

Here Fanny, who could not but listen, involuntarily shook her head, and Crawford was instantly by her side again, entreating to know her meaning; and as Edmund perceived, by his drawing in a chair, and sitting down close by her, that it was to be a very thorough attack, that looks and undertones were to be well tried, he sank as quietly as possible into a corner, turned his back, and took up a newspaper, very sincerely wishing that dear little Fanny might be persuaded into explaining away that shake of the head to the satisfaction of her ardent lover; and as earnestly trying to bury every sound of the business from himself in murmurs of his own, over the various advertisements of “A most desirable Estate in South Wales”—“To Parents and Guardians”—and a “Capital season'd Hunter.”

Fanny, meanwhile, vexed with herself for not having been as motionless as she was speechless, and grieved to the heart to see Edmund's arrangements, was trying by everything in the power of her modest, gentle nature, to repulse Mr. Crawford, and avoid both his looks and inquiries; and he, unrepulsable, was persisting in both.

“What did that shake of the head mean?” said he. “What was it meant to express? Disapprobation, I fear. But of what? What had I been saying to displease you? Did you think me speaking improperly, lightly, irreverently on the subject? Only tell me if I was. Only tell me if I was wrong. I want to be set right. Nay, nay, I entreat you; for one moment put down your work. What did that shake of the head mean?”

In vain was her “Pray, sir, don't—pray, Mr. Crawford,” repeated twice over; and in vain did she try to move away—In the same low, eager voice, and the same close neighbourhood, he went on, re-urging the same questions as before. She grew more agitated and displeased.

“How can you, sir? You quite astonish me; I wonder how you can—”

“Do I astonish you?” said he. “Do you wonder? Is there anything in my present entreaty that you do not understand? I will explain to you instantly all that makes me urge you in this manner, all that gives me an interest in what you look and do, and excites my present curiosity. I will not leave you to wonder long.”

In spite of herself, she could not help half a smile, but she said nothing.

“You shook your head at my acknowledging that I should not like to engage in the duties of a clergyman always for a constancy. Yes, that was the word. Constancy, I am not afraid of the word. I would spell it, read it, write it with anybody. I see nothing alarming in the word. Did you think I ought?”

“Perhaps, sir,” said Fanny, wearied at last into speaking—“perhaps, sir, I thought it was a pity you did not always know yourself as well as you seemed to do at that moment.”

Crawford, delighted to get her to speak at any rate, was determined to keep it up; and poor Fanny, who had hoped to silence him by such an extremity of reproof, found herself sadly mistaken, and that it was only a change from one object of curiosity and one set of words to another. He had always something to entreat the explanation of. The opportunity was too fair. None such had occurred since his seeing her in her uncle's room, none such might occur again before his leaving Mansfield. Lady Bertram's being just on the other side of the table was a trifle, for she might always be considered as only half awake, and Edmund's advertisements were still of the first utility.

“Well,” said Crawford, after a course of rapid questions and reluctant answers; “I am happier than I was, because I now understand more clearly your opinion of me. You think me unsteady—easily swayed by the whim of the moment—easily tempted—easily put aside. With such an opinion, no wonder that—but we shall see. It is not by protestations that I shall endeavour to convince you I am wronged, it is not by telling you that my affections are steady. My conduct shall speak for me—absence, distance, time shall speak for me. They shall prove that, as far as you can be deserved by anybody, I do deserve you. You are infinitely my superior in merit; all that I know. You have qualities which I had not before supposed to exist in such a degree in any human creature. You have some touches of the angel in you beyond what—not merely beyond what one sees, because one never sees anything like it—but beyond what one fancies might be. But still I am not frightened. It is not by equality of merit that you can be won. That is out of the question. It is he who sees and worships your merit the strongest, who loves you most devotedly, that has the best right to a return. There I build my confidence. By that right I do and will deserve you; and when once convinced that my attachment is what I declare it, I know you too well not to entertain the warmest hopes—Yes, dearest, sweetest Fanny—nay” (seeing her draw back displeased), “forgive me. Perhaps I have as yet no right—but by what other name can I call you? Do you suppose you are ever present to my imagination under any other? No, it is ‘Fanny’ that I think of all day, and dream of all night. You have given the name such reality of sweetness, that nothing else can now be descriptive of you.”

Fanny could hardly have kept her seat any longer, or have refrained from at least trying to get away in spite of all the too public opposition she foresaw to it, had it not been for the sound of approaching relief, the very sound which she had been long watching for, and long thinking strangely delayed.

The solemn procession, headed by Baddeley, of teaboard, urn, and cake-bearers, made its appearance, and delivered her from a grievous imprisonment of body and mind. Mr. Crawford was obliged to move. She was at liberty, she was busy, she was protected.

Edmund was not sorry to be admitted again among the number of those who might speak and hear. But though the conference had seemed full long to him, and though on looking at Fanny he saw rather a flush of vexation, he inclined to hope that so much could not have been said and listened to without some profit to the speaker.

埃德蒙一回來就會聽到一些重大情況。許多意想不到的事情在等著他。最先發(fā)生的并不是最無關緊要的事情：他騎馬進村時，看見亨利·克勞福德和瑪麗·克勞福德在一起散步。他原以為他們已經(jīng)離開了。他之所以要兩個多星期不回來，為的就是不想見到克勞福德小姐。他在回曼斯菲爾德的路上，已做好準備要生活在心酸的回憶和觸景傷情的聯(lián)想之中，卻不料一進村，就見她綽約多姿地依著哥哥的臂膀出現(xiàn)在他面前。就在剛才，他還以為這個女人遠在七十英里之外，而在思想上離他就更遠了，現(xiàn)在她卻在歡迎他，而且態(tài)度無疑非常友好。

他即便料到會遇見她，也想不到她會這樣歡迎他。他是出去辦事的，辦完事回來的路上，萬萬沒有料到會遇到如此歡快的笑臉，聽到如此簡明而動聽的語言。這足以使他心花怒放。等回到家里，他就能充分領會正等待他的其他驚喜之事的全部價值。

他很快就知道了威廉的晉升及其詳情細節(jié)。他心中暗藏的那份歡樂，使他越發(fā)為這件事感到欣喜，因而在吃飯的時候，這件事一直是他得意揚揚、欣喜不已的源泉。

吃過飯后，趁旁邊沒人的時候，父親把范妮的事情告訴了他。于是，曼斯菲爾德兩個星期來的大事和目前的狀況，他全都知道了。

范妮對他們的舉動有所猜疑。他們在飯廳里坐的時間比平時長多了，她料定他們一定在談論她。到了終于起身去吃茶點的時候，她一想到即將再次見到埃德蒙，便感到自己犯了大罪似的。埃德蒙來到她跟前，坐在她旁邊，抓住她的手，親切地握著。這時她覺得，要不是大家忙著吃茶點，光顧著關注那些茶具，她肯定會把自己的情感泄露到不可寬恕的地步。

不過，埃德蒙這樣做，并不像她想的那樣在給她無條件的支持和鼓勵。他只想表示她感興趣的事他都關心，還想告訴她，他剛才聽到的是催人心動的韻事。其實，在這個問題上，他完全站在父親一邊。對于范妮拒絕了克勞福德，他并不像父親那樣驚訝。他覺得表妹決不會看得上克勞福德，總認為情況恰恰相反。因而可以想象得出，對方提出求婚時，她絲毫沒有思想準備。不過，托馬斯爵士也不會像他這樣認為這樁婚事這么理想。他覺得，這件事從各方面看都有很可取之處。一方面，他贊賞范妮在目前沒有情意的情況下的種種表現(xiàn)，甚至比托馬斯爵士還要贊賞有加；另一方面，他又熱切地希望，并且樂觀地相信，他們最后會成為一對佳偶。一旦彼此相愛，那時就可以看出，他們的性情正相適宜，會給彼此帶來幸福。這是他經(jīng)過認真考慮得出的看法?？藙诟５掠行┻^于冒失。他沒有給她培養(yǎng)感情的時間。他一開始就失策了。不過，男的條件這么好，女的性情這么溫柔，埃德蒙相信，事情肯定會有個圓滿的結局。眼下，他見范妮神情窘迫，便小心翼翼，不再用言語、神情或舉動刺激她。

第二天克勞福德來訪。鑒于埃德蒙回來了，托馬斯爵士自己做主，留他吃飯。這個面子還真是不能不給的?？藙诟５庐斎涣袅讼聛?。埃德蒙于是有了充分的機會，觀察他和范妮之間如何進展，觀察他從范妮那里能直接得到多少鼓勵。他得到的鼓勵很少，少得可憐，每一次機會，每個可能的場合，引起的并不是她的鼓勵，而是給她帶來了窘迫不安。如果在她窘迫的時候看不出希望的話，在別的狀況下也不會有什么希望。因此，埃德蒙簡直不明白，他的朋友為何還要緊追不舍。范妮倒是值得克勞福德這么追求。他認為范妮值得一個人堅持不懈地做出各種努力，值得一個人費盡心機——但是換了他的話，不管是哪一個女人，如果他從其目光中看不出鼓舞勇氣的眼神，他是不會死乞白賴地堅持下去的。他真希望克勞福德能看得清楚些，這是他根據(jù)自己在飯前、飯后以及吃飯當中的觀察，替朋友得出的最穩(wěn)妥的結論。

到了晚上，出現(xiàn)了一些情況，他覺得事情又有了點希望。他和克勞福德走進客廳時，他母親和范妮正聚精會神、不聲不響地坐在那里做活計，好像心無旁騖似的。見她們?nèi)绱顺领o，埃德蒙不由得評說了兩句。

“我們并非一直都這么不聲不響，”他母親答道，“范妮在念書給我聽，聽見你們來了，才剛把書放下?！弊雷由系拇_有一本書，看樣子剛剛合上，是莎士比亞的一部作品?！八倪@些書中挑些內(nèi)容念給我聽。聽到你們的腳步聲時，她正在念一個人物的一段非常漂亮的臺詞——那個人物叫什么名字，范妮？”

克勞福德拿起了書。“請允許我把這段話給夫人念完，”他說，“我馬上就能找到?！彼屑毜胤鴷?，找到了那個地方，或者說離那地方不到一兩頁，反正是很近。伯特倫夫人滿意了。他一提到紅衣主教沃爾西[1]，夫人就說正是這段話。范妮一眼也沒看他，也不說要幫他找，也不吭一聲對不對。她一心一意只管做她的活，似乎打定主意概不過問別的事。不過，她這方面的興趣太強烈了，注意力抑制了不到五分鐘，便情不自禁地聽了起來?？藙诟５履畹煤馨?，而她又極其喜歡優(yōu)美的朗誦。不過，她早就聽慣了優(yōu)美的朗誦。她姨父念得美，表哥表姐全都念得美，埃德蒙念得非常美。但是，克勞福德先生的朗誦有一種她未曾聽到過的獨到韻味。國王、王后、伯金翰、沃爾西、克倫威爾[2]，他們的臺詞他都依次念過了。他有純熟的技巧，有跳讀、猜測的卓越能力，總能隨意找到最精彩的場次，找到每個角色最精彩的臺詞。不管是威嚴還是驕傲，不管是柔情還是悔恨，不管要表達什么，他都表達得同樣完美。這是真正的舞臺藝術。他的表演曾第一次使她懂得戲劇能給人多大的享受，現(xiàn)在他的朗誦又使她想起了他以前的表演；不僅如此，也許使她更加愉悅，因為這朗誦完全是突如其來的，也沒有她上次看他和伯特倫小姐同臺演出時那種酸楚的感覺。

埃德蒙在觀察范妮注意力的變化，感到又開心又得意。剛開始，她好像一心一意地在做活，后來手里的活漸漸慢下來，從手中脫落，她一動不動地坐在那里。最后，她那雙一整天都在故意躲避對方的眼睛轉(zhuǎn)了過來，盯在克勞福德身上，一盯就是好幾分鐘，直至把克勞福德的目光吸引到她自己身上。那書給合上了，那魔力也被打破了。這時，她又故態(tài)復萌，滿臉通紅，起勁地做起活來。不過，這足以使埃德蒙替他的朋友產(chǎn)生了希望。他向克勞福德表示由衷的感謝時，還希望也能表達出范妮的心意。

“這一定是你特別喜愛的一出戲?！彼f，“從你的朗誦來看，你好像對劇本很熟悉?！?/p>

“我相信，從此時此刻起，這將成為我最喜愛的一出戲，”克勞福德回答說，“不過我想，我從十五歲起，手里還沒有拿過一本莎士比亞的作品。我曾經(jīng)看過一次《亨利八世》的演出，或者是聽到哪個看過演出的人說起過——我已經(jīng)記不清楚了。不過，人們對莎士比亞也不知道怎么回事就熟悉起來了。這是英國人資質(zhì)的一部分。他的思想，他的美，真是廣為流傳，處處都可以觸摸得到，人們都會本能地熟悉他。一個人但凡有點頭腦，只要隨便打開他哪個劇本的哪個精彩部分，馬上便會墜入他思想的洪流中?！?/p>

“我相信，人們從幼年時候起就多少知道了莎士比亞，”埃德蒙說，“他那些著名的段落人人都在引用。我們翻閱的書中，一半都有他的引文。我們?nèi)巳硕荚谡務撋勘葋?，運用他的比喻，使用他的語言來描述。但是，這都不像你那樣能充分表達他的意思。對他有點零零星星的了解，這是很平常的；要徹底了解他，也許就不尋常了。但是要把他的劇本朗誦好，可就不是一般的才華了?！?/p>

“先生，蒙你夸獎?！笨藙诟５鹿首髡?jīng)地鞠了一躬說。

兩位先生都瞥了范妮一眼，看她能否也說出一句半句類似的贊揚話。然而，兩人都看出這是不可能的。她剛才能注意聽也算是贊揚了，他們對此應該知足了。

伯特倫夫人表示了自己的贊賞，而且措辭熱烈?！斑@真像演出一樣，”她說，“只可惜托馬斯爵士不在場?！?/p>

克勞福德喜不自禁。智力平庸、精神萎靡的伯特倫夫人尚且如此欣賞，她那朝氣蓬勃、富有見識的外甥女該怎樣欣賞，就可想而知了。想到這里，他不禁自鳴得意起來。

“我認為你很有表演天賦，克勞福德先生。”過了不久，伯特倫夫人又說，“你聽我說，我想你早晚會在你諾?？思依锝ㄒ粋€劇場。我的意思是說，等你在那里定居之后。我真是這么想的。我想你會在你諾?？说募依锊贾靡粋€劇場?！?/p>

“你真這么想嗎，夫人？”克勞福德急忙嚷道，“不，不，決不會的。您老人家完全想錯了。埃弗靈厄姆不會有劇場的！噢！不會的?！彼麕е馕渡铋L的笑容望著范妮，那意思顯然是說：“這位女士決不會允許在埃弗靈厄姆搞個劇場?！?/p>

埃德蒙全看明白了，還看出范妮決計不予理會，這恰好表明她已完全聽明白了對方的意思。他心想，這么快就意識到對她的恭維，這么快就領會了對她的暗示，總比根本沒聽懂要好。

還在進一步討論朗誦的問題，發(fā)言的只是兩位年輕人，不過他們倆站在爐火邊，談論學校里普遍忽視對孩子們進行朗誦訓練，談論大人們——頭腦聰明、見多識廣的大人們在這方面的粗俗無知。這是學校不重視朗誦訓練的必然結果，在有些人身上，這種粗俗無知幾乎達到不可思議的地步。他們曾經(jīng)見識過，當突然叫這些人朗誦的時候，他們由于控制不好自己的聲音，不懂抑揚頓挫，缺乏預見和判斷，念得磕磕巴巴、錯誤頻頻。這都屬于次因引起的問題，都是由初因?qū)е碌?，這就是早年不重視，沒有養(yǎng)成習慣。范妮又一次聽得津津有味。

“就是在我這一行里，”埃德蒙含笑說，“朗誦的藝術也很少研究??！很少有人去注意訓練自己念得又清晰又有技巧??！不過，我說的主要是過去，而不是現(xiàn)在?，F(xiàn)在到處都有改進。但是在二十年、三十年、四十年前接受圣職的人當中，從他們的實際行動來看，多數(shù)人肯定認為，朗誦就是朗誦，布道就是布道?，F(xiàn)在情況不同了。這個問題受到了應有的重視?，F(xiàn)在人們認識到，在傳播顛撲不破的真理時，清晰的朗誦和飽滿的精神能起到很重要的作用。而且，跟以前相比，現(xiàn)在已有更多的人在這方面有了修養(yǎng)，有了鑒別力，掌握了批評的知識。不管在哪個教堂，臺下的聽眾大多都有一定的見識，他們能辨別，會批評?！?/p>

埃德蒙接受圣職后，已主持過一次禮拜?？藙诟５铝私饬诉@一點之后，向他提出了各種各樣的問題，問他有什么感受，主持得是否成功。他問這些問題的時候，雖然出于友好關心和快嘴快舌問得隨便一些，但絲毫沒有取笑之心，也沒有輕薄之意。埃德蒙心里清楚，那會讓范妮覺得太唐突。因此，埃德蒙很樂意回答他的問題?？藙诟５逻M一步問到主持禮拜時某些具體段落應該怎樣朗誦，并發(fā)表了自己的意見。這表明，他過去考慮過這個問題，并且很有見地。埃德蒙越來越高興了。這才是通向范妮的心靈之路。光靠殷勤、機智、好脾氣是贏不來她的心的。光靠這些特點，而沒有情趣和情感，以及對嚴肅問題的嚴肅態(tài)度，至少不會很快贏得她的心。

“我們的禮拜儀式很有美感，”克勞福德說，“即使在朗誦這一環(huán)上隨便一些，馬虎一些，也破壞不了。不過有些累贅的、重復的地方，也需要朗誦好，讓聽眾覺不出來。至少，就我來說，我必須承認，我就不是總聽得那么專心（講到這里瞥了范妮一眼），二十次中有十九次我在想這樣一段祈禱文應該怎樣念，希望自己能拿來念一念——你說什么了嗎？”他急忙走向范妮，用輕柔的聲音問她。聽她說了聲“沒有”之后，他又問道：“你肯定沒說什么嗎？我剛才看到你的嘴唇在動。我以為你想告訴我應該專心一些，不要讓自己思想開小差。你不打算對我這樣說嗎？”

“的確沒有，你很了解你的職責，用不著我——即使——”

她停下來了，覺得自己陷入了困窘。有好一陣工夫，盡管對方在追問、在等待，她卻不愿再多說一句話。于是，克勞福德又回到剛才站的地方，繼續(xù)說了下去，好像不曾有過這么一段溫柔的插曲似的。

“布道布得好，比把祈禱文念好還難得。布道詞本身好，也不算稀奇。寫得好沒有講得好困難。就是說，人們對寫作技巧和規(guī)則有更多的研究。一篇十分好的布道詞，講得又非常好，能給人以莫大的快樂。我每聽到一次這樣的布道，總感到無比敬慕，真有點想接受圣職，自己也去布道。教堂講壇上的口才，如果真的好，那就值得給予最高的贊賞和尊崇。一個傳道者，如果能在有限的、普通牧師已經(jīng)講過千萬遍的主題上，打動并影響形形色色的聽眾，能講出一點新鮮的或令人振奮的東西，講出一點令人關注的內(nèi)容，而又不讓人反感或倒胃口，那他在公眾中所起的作用，你怎樣敬佩都不過分。我就愿意做這樣一個人?！?/p>

埃德蒙大笑起來。

“我真的愿意。我每遇到一個優(yōu)秀的傳教士布道，總是有點羨慕。不過，我得有一幫倫敦的聽眾。我只給有知識的人布道，講給能夠評價我的布道詞的人們聽。我不知道我會不會喜歡經(jīng)常布道。也許，盡管大家盼著我一連五六個星期天都講，我只是偶爾講一講，整個春天講上一兩次。但是不能經(jīng)常講，經(jīng)常講不行?！?/p>

范妮不得不聽，這時不由自主地搖了搖頭?？藙诟５掠竹R上來到她身邊，求她說出她這是什么意思。埃德蒙一見他拉了一把椅子緊挨著她坐下，便意識到這可是一場不折不扣的進攻戰(zhàn)，眉目傳情和弦外之音都要一齊用上。埃德蒙不聲不響地退到一個角落，轉(zhuǎn)過臉去，拿起一張報紙，衷心地希望親愛的小范妮經(jīng)過說服，能解釋一下她為什么搖頭，讓她這位狂熱的追求者感到心滿意足。他同樣熱切地希望用自己喃喃的讀報聲，來蓋住那兩人之間傳出的每一個聲響。他讀著各種各樣的廣告：“南威爾士最令人向往的地產(chǎn)”“致父母與監(jiān)護人”“極棒的老練狩獵者”。

這當兒，范妮恨自己只能管住自己沒作聲，卻沒管住自己不搖頭，傷心地看著埃德蒙做出這樣的反應。她試圖在她那文雅穩(wěn)重的天性所能允許的范圍內(nèi)，盡力挫敗克勞福德先生，既避開他的目光，又避而不答他的問話。而他卻是挫不敗的，既不斷地做眉眼，又不停地追問。

“你搖頭是什么意思？”他問，“你搖頭是想表示什么？恐怕是不贊成吧?？刹毁澇墒裁茨?？我說了什么話惹你不高興了？你覺得我在這個問題上出言不當嗎？輕率不切題嗎？真是這樣的話，你就告訴我。我有錯你就告訴我。我想請你改正我的錯誤。確切點說，我懇求你，把你手里的活放一放。你搖頭究竟是什么意思呀？”

范妮忙說：“求求你，先生，不要這樣——求求你，克勞福德先生?！边B說了兩遍都沒用。她想走也走不了——克勞福德還用低低的急切的聲音，還是那樣緊緊地挨著她，繼續(xù)重復剛才問過的問題。范妮越發(fā)忐忑，越發(fā)不悅了。

“你怎么能，先生？你實在讓我吃驚——我奇怪你怎么能——”

“我讓你吃驚了嗎？”克勞福德問，“你覺得奇怪嗎？我對你的請求你有什么不理解的嗎？我馬上向你解釋我為什么這樣催問你，為什么對你的一顰一笑、一舉一動這么感興趣，為什么我會這么好奇。我不會讓你老是覺得奇怪?！?/p>

范妮忍不住微微一笑，但是沒有說話。

“你是在聽我說我不愿意經(jīng)常履行牧師職責的時候搖頭的。是的，就是這個字眼。經(jīng)常，我不怕這個字眼。我可以對任何人拼它，念它，寫它。我看不出這個字眼有什么可怕的。你覺得我應該認為它有什么可怕的嗎？”

“也許，先生，”范妮最后厭煩得不得不說話了，“也許，先生，我覺得很遺憾，你并不總是像你那一刻那樣了解自己?！?/p>

克勞福德總算逗得她開口說話了，心里好生高興，便決意讓她說下去?？蓱z的范妮，她原以為這樣狠狠地責備一番會讓他閉口無言，沒料到自己卻犯了個可悲的錯誤。對方只是從追問這件事轉(zhuǎn)到追問那件事，由這套話換成那套話。他總會找個問題請求她解釋。這個機會太好了。自從他在她姨父房里與她見面以來，他還從沒遇到過這么好的機會，在他離開曼斯菲爾德以前可能再也遇不到這么好的機會。伯特倫夫人就在桌子的那一頭，這根本算不了什么，因為你總可以把她看作只是半睡半醒，而埃德蒙讀廣告依然大有益處。

“哦，”經(jīng)過一陣迅疾的提問和勉強的回答之后，克勞福德說道，“我比先前更覺得幸福，因為我現(xiàn)在更清楚了你對我的看法。你覺得我不穩(wěn)重——容易受一時心血來潮的支配，容易受誘惑，容易放棄。你有這樣的看法，難怪——不過，我們走著瞧。我不是光靠嘴巴向你證明你冤屈了我，不是靠向你保證說我的感情是可靠的。我的行為將為我擔?！獎e離、距離、時間將為我做證。它們會證明，只要有人有權得到你，我就有權得到你。就人品而言，你比我強得多，這我完全清楚。你有些品質(zhì)，我以前認為人身上不可能達到這個程度。你像個天使，身上有些東西超出了——不僅超出了人們所能看見的范圍，因為人們永遠看不到這樣的東西——而且超出了人們的想象。不過，我仍不氣餒。我不是靠和你一樣好來贏得你。這是不可能的。應該是誰最能看出你的美德，誰最崇拜你的人品，誰對你最忠貞不貳，誰才最有權利得到你的愛。我的信心就建立在這個基礎上。憑著這點權利，我就可以得到你，也會有資格得到你。我很了解你，你一旦意識到我對你的感情正像我對你表白的這樣，我就大有希望了。是的，最親愛、最甜蜜的范妮——不僅如此——（看到她不高興地往后退）請原諒。也許我現(xiàn)在還沒有權利——可我又能怎么稱呼你呢？難道你認為你會以別的名字出現(xiàn)在我的心目中嗎？不，我白天想的，夜里夢的，全是‘范妮’。這個名字已經(jīng)成了實實在在的甜蜜的象征，根本找不到別的字眼來形容你?！?/p>

范妮簡直是再也坐不住了，幾乎想冒人人反對的風險溜走了。恰在這時，一陣愈來愈近的腳步聲給她解了圍。她早就盼著這腳步聲了，早就奇怪為什么還不出現(xiàn)。

由巴德利帶領的一伙人莊重地出現(xiàn)了，有端茶盤的、提茶水壺的、拿蛋糕的，把她從痛苦的身心圍困中解救了出來?？藙诟５孪壬坏貌慌擦藗€位置。范妮自由了，忙碌起來了，也得到了保護。

埃德蒙毫不遺憾地回到了可以說話又可以聽別人說話的人們中間。他覺得兩人談的時間夠長的了，并且看到范妮因為煩惱而漲紅了臉。不過他心里在想，既然你說我聽了那么長時間，說話的一方?jīng)Q不會沒有收獲。

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[1]莎士比亞歷史劇《亨利八世》中的人物。

[2]皆為《亨利八世》中的人物，國王即亨利八世，王后即亨利八世的妻子，伯金翰即伯金翰公爵，克倫威爾系紅衣主教沃爾西的仆人。