第 57 节
作者:温暖寒冬      更新:2024-04-09 19:50      字数:9292
  looked      inquiringly     at  Arthur;     but   his   disclaiming      indifferent
  answer   confirmed   the   thought   which   had   quickly   followed—that
  there   could   be   nothing   serious   in   that   direction。   There   was   no
  probability that Arthur ever saw her except at church; and at her
  own home under the eye of Mrs。 Poyser; and the hint he had given
  Arthur about her the other day had no more serious meaning than
  to   prevent   him   from   noticing   her   so   as   to   rouse   the   little   chit’s
  vanity; and in this way perturb the rustic drama of her life。 Arthur
  would soon join his regiment; and be far away: no; there could be
  no danger in that quarter; even if Arthur’s character had not been
  a   strong   security   against   it。   His   honest;   patronising   pride   in   the
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  good…will   and   respect   of   everybody   about   him   was   a   safeguard
  even   against   foolish   romance;   still   more   against   a   lower   kind   of
  folly。   If  there   had been  anything  special   on  Arthur’s   mind  in  the
  previous   conversation;   it   was   clear   he   was   not   inclined   to   enter
  into    details;   and   Mr。    Irwine    was    too  delicate    to  imply    even    a
  friendly     curiosity。    He   perceived      a  change     of  subject    would     be
  welcome; and said—
  “By the way; Arthur; at your colonel’s birthday fête there were
  some      transparencies        that   made     a   great    effect   in   honour     of
  Britannia; and Pitt; and the Loamshire Militia; and; above all; the
  ‘generous youth;’ the hero of the day。 Don’t you think you should
  get up something of the same sort to astonish our weak minds?”
  The   opportunity   was   gone。   While   Arthur   was   hesitating;             the
  rope   to   which   he   might   have   clung   had   drifted   away—he   must
  trust now to his own swimming。
  In   ten   minutes   from   that   time;   Mr。   Irwine   was   called   for   on
  business;   and   Arthur;   bidding   him   good…bye;   mounted   his   horse
  again   with   a   sense   of   dissatisfaction;   which   he   tried   to   quell   by
  determining to set off for Eagledale without an hour’s delay。
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  Book Second
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  Chapter XVII
  In Which the Story Pauses a Little
  his Rector of Broxton is little better than a pagan!” I
  hear   one   of   my   readers   exclaim。   “How   much   more
  “T
  edifying it would have been if you had made him give
  Arthur   some   truly   spiritual   advice!   You   might   have   put   into   his
  mouth      the  most    beautiful   things—quite      as   good   as  reading    a
  sermon。”
  Certainly I could; if I held it the highest vocation of the novelist
  to   represent   things   as   they   never   have   been   and   never   will   be。
  Then; of course; I might refashion life and character entirely after
  my   own   liking;   I   might   select   the   most   unexceptionable   type   of
  clergyman and put my own admirable opinions into his mouth on
  all   occasions。   But  it   happens;   on   the   contrary;   that   my   strongest
  effort is to avoid any such arbitrary picture; and to give a faithful
  account   of  men   and   things   as   they   have   mirrored   themselves   in
  my    mind。    The    mirror   is  doubtless    defective;    the  outlines    will
  sometimes be disturbed; the reflection faint or confused; but I feel
  as much bound to tell you as precisely as I can what that reflection
  is;   as   if   I   were   in   the   witness…box;   narrating   my   experience   on
  oath。
  Sixty   years   ago—it   is   a   long   time;   so   no   wonder   things   have
  changed—all clergymen were not zealous; indeed; there is reason
  to believe that the number of zealous clergymen was small; and it
  is   probable   that  if  one   among   the   small   minority   had   owned   the
  livings of Broxton and Hayslope in the year 1799; you would have
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  liked   him   no   better   than   you   like   Mr。   Irwine。   Ten   to   one;   you
  would have thought him a tasteless; indiscreet; methodistical man。
  It is so very rarely that facts hit that nice medium required by our
  own enlightened opinions and refined taste! Perhaps you will say;
  “Do   improve   the   facts   a   little;   then;   make   them   more   accordant
  with those correct views which it is our  privilege   to  possess。   The
  world is not just what we like; do touch it up with a tasteful pencil;
  and make believe it is not quite such a mixed entangled affair。 Let
  all      people       who       hold      unexceptionable           opinions       act
  unexceptionably。 Let your most faulty characters always be on the
  wrong side; and your virtuous ones on the right。 Then we shall see
  at   a  glance     whom     we   are   to  condemn       and    whom     we    are  to
  approve。   Then   we   shall   be   able   to   admire;   without   the   slightest
  disturbance of our prepossessions: we shall hate and despise with
  that     true    ruminant        relish    which     belongs      to    undoubting
  confidence。”
  But;   my   good   friend;   what   will   you   do   then   with   your   fellow…
  parishioner  who  opposes   your  husband   in   the   vestry?   With   your
  newly appointed vicar; whose style of preaching you find painfully
  below that of his regretted predecessor? With the honest  servant
  who worries your soul with her one failing? With your neighbour;
  Mrs。 Green; who was really kind to you in your last illness; but has
  said      several      ill…natured      things     about      you      since     your
  convalescence?   Nay;   with   your   excellent   husband             himself;   who
  has   other   irritating   habits   besides   that   of   not   wiping   his   shoes?
  These fellow…mortals; every one; must be accepted as they are: you
  can    neither    straighten     their   noses;   nor   brighten    their   wit;  nor
  rectify   their   dispositions;   and   it   is   these   people—amongst   whom
  your life is passed—that it is needful you should tolerate; pity; and
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  love:    it  is  these  more    or   less  ugly;   stupid;   inconsistent     people
  whose movements of goodness you should be able to admire—for
  whom you should cherish all possible hopes; all possible patience。
  And   I   would  not;   even if   I   had   the   choice;   be   the   clever   novelist
  who could create a world so much better than this; in which we get
  up in the morning to do our daily work; that you would be likely to
  turn   a   harder;   colder   eye   on   the   dusty   streets   and   the   common
  green fields—on the real breathing men and women; who can be
  chilled by your indifference or injured by your prejudice; who can
  be    cheered     and    helped     onward      by   your    fellow…feeling;     your
  forbearance; your outspoken; brave justice。
  So I am content to tell my simple story; without trying to make
  things seem better than they were; dreading nothing; indeed; but
  falsity;   which;    in  spite   of  one’s   best   efforts;  there   is  reason    to
  dread。     Falsehood      is  so   easy;   truth   so   difficult。  The    pencil    is
  conscious   of   a   delightful   facility   in   drawing   a   griffin—the   longer
  the claws; and the larger the wings; the better; but that marvellous
  facility which we mistook for genius is apt to forsake us when we
  want to draw a real unexaggerated lion。 Examine your words well;
  and you will find that even when you have no motive to be false; it
  is   a   very  hard   thing  to  say  the   exact  truth;   even   about  your   own
  immediate        feelings—much        harder     than   to   say   something      fine
  about them which is not the exact truth。
  It is for this rare;