贵妇人画像The Portrait of a Lady-50

"I'm not bored," said Goodwood. "I've plenty to think about and to say to myself.""More than to say to others!" Osmond exclaimed with a light laugh. "Where shall you go next? Imean after you've consigned Touchett to his natural caretakers--I believe his mother's at lastcoming back to look after him. That little lady's superb; she neglects her duties with a finish--!Perhaps you'll spend the summer in England?""I don't know. I've no plans.""Happy man! That's a little bleak, but it's very free.""Oh yes, I'm very free.""Free to come back to Rome I hope," said Osmond as he saw a group of new visitors enter theroom. "Remember that when you do come we count on you!"Goodwood had meant to go away early, but the evening elapsed without his having a chance tospeak to Isabel otherwise than as one of several associated interlocutors. There was somethingperverse in the inveteracy with which she avoided him; his unquenchable rancour discovered anintention where there was certainly no appearance of one. There was absolutely no appearance ofone. She met his eyes with her clear hospitable smile, which seemed almost to ask that he wouldcome and help her to entertain some of her visitors. To such suggestions, however, he opposed buta stiff impatience. He wandered about and waited; he talked to the few people he knew, who foundhim for the first time rather self-contradictory. This was indeed rare with Caspar Goodwood,though he often contradicted others. There was often music at Palazzo Roccanera, and it wasusually very good. Under cover of the music he managed to contain himself; but toward the end,when he saw the people beginning to go, he drew near to Isabel and asked her in a low tone if hemight not speak to her in one of the other rooms, which he had just assured himself was empty.第 337 页 共 391 页原版英语阅读网She smiled as if she wished to oblige him but found her self absolutely prevented. "I'm afraid it'simpossible. People are saying good-night, and I must be where they can see me.""I shall wait till they are all gone then."She hesitated a moment. "Ah, that will be delightful!" she exclaimed.And he waited, though it took a long time yet. There were several people, at the end, who seemedtethered to the carpet. The Countess Gemini, who was never herself till midnight, as she said,displayed no consciousness that the entertainment was over; she had still a little circle ofgentlemen in front of the fire, who every now and then broke into a united laugh. Osmond haddisappeared--he never bade good-bye to people; and as the Countess was extending her range,according to her custom at this period of the evening, Isabel had sent Pansy to bed. Isabel sat alittle apart; she too appeared to wish her sister-in-law would sound a lower note and let the lastloiterers depart in peace."May I not say a word to you now?" Goodwood presently asked her. She got up immediately,smiling. "Certainly, we'll go somewhere else if you like." They went together, leaving theCountess with her little circle, and for a moment after they had crossed the threshold neither ofthem spoke. Isabel would not sit down; she stood in the middle of the room slowly fanning herself;she had for him the same familiar grace. She seemed to wait for him to speak. Now that he wasalone with her all the passion he had never stifled surged into his senses; it hummed in his eyes andmade things swim round him. The bright, empty room grew dim and blurred, and through theheaving veil he felt her hover before him with gleaming eyes and parted lips. If he had seen moredistinctly he would have perceived her smile was fixed and a trifle forced--that she was frightenedat what she saw in his own face. "I suppose you wish to bid me goodbye?" she said."Yes--but I don't like it. I don't want to leave Rome," he answered with almost plaintive honesty."I can well imagine. It's wonderfully good of you. I can't tell you how kind I think you."For a moment more he said nothing. "With a few words like that you make me go.""You must come back some day," she brightly returned."Some day? You mean as long a time hence as possible.""Oh no; I don't mean all that.""What do you mean? I don't understand! But I said I'd go, and I'll go," Goodwood added."Come back whenever you like," said Isabel with attempted lightness."I don't care a straw for your cousin!" Caspar broke out."Is that what you wished to tell me?""No, no; I didn't want to tell you anything; I wanted to ask you--" he paused a moment, andthen--"what have you really made of your life?" he said, in a low, quick tone. He paused again, asif for an answer; but she said nothing, and he went on: "I can't understand, I can't penetrate you!What am I to believe-- what do you want me to think?" Still she said nothing; she only stoodlooking at him, now quite without pretending to ease. "I'm told you're unhappy, and if you are Ishould like to know it. That would be something for me. But you yourself say you're happy, and第 338 页 共 391 页原版英语阅读网you're somehow so still, so smooth, so hard. You're completely changed. You conceal everything;I haven't really come near you.""You come very near," Isabel said gently, but in a tone of warning."And yet I don't touch you! I want to know the truth. Have you done well?""You ask a great deal.""Yes--I've always asked a great deal. Of course you won't tell me. I shall never know if you canhelp it. And then it's none of my business." He had spoken with a visible effort to control himself,to give a considerate form to an inconsiderate state of mind. But the sense that it was his lastchance, that he loved her and had lost her, that she would think him a fool whatever he should say,suddenly gave him a lash and added a deep vibration to his low voice. "You're perfectlyinscrutable, and that's what makes me think you've something to hide. I tell you I don't care a strawfor your cousin, but I don't mean that I don't like him. I mean that it isn't because I like him that Igo away with him. I'd go if he were an idiot and you should have asked me. If you should ask meI'd go to Siberia tomorrow. Why do you want me to leave the place? You must have some reasonfor that; if you were as contented as you pretend you are you wouldn't care. I'd rather know thetruth about you, even if it's damnable, than have come here for nothing. That isn't what I came for.I thought I shouldn't care. I came because I wanted to assure myself that I needn't think of you anymore. I haven't thought of anything else, and you're quite right to wish me to go away. But if Imust go, there's no harm in my letting myself out for a single moment, is there? If you're reallyhurt--if HE hurts you--nothing I say will hurt you. When I tell you I love you it's simply what Icame for. I thought it was for something else; but it was for that. I shouldn't say it if I didn't believeI should never see you again. It's the last time--let me pluck a single flower! I've no right to saythat, I know; and you've no right to listen. But you don't listen; you never listen, you're alwaysthinking of something else. After this I must go, of course; so I shall at least have a reason. Yourasking me is no reason, not a real one. I can't judge by your husband," he went on irrelevantly,almost incoherently; "I don't understand him; he tells me you adore each other. Why does he tellme that? What business is it of mine? When I say that to you, you look strange. But you alwayslook strange. Yes, you've something to hide. It's none of my business --very true. But I love you,"said Caspar Goodwood.As he said, she looked strange. She turned her eyes to the door by which they had entered andraised her fan as if in warning."You've behaved so well; don't spoil it," she uttered softly."No one hears me. It's wonderful what you tried to put me off with. I love you as I've never lovedyou.""I know it. I knew it as soon as you consented to go.""You can't help it--of course not. You would if you could, but you can't, unfortunately.Unfortunately for me, I mean. I ask nothing --nothing, that is, I shouldn't. But I do ask one solesatisfaction:--that you tell me--that you tell me--!""That I tell you what?""Whether I may pity you."第 339 页 共 391 页原版英语阅读网"Should you like that?" Isabel asked, trying to smile again."To pity you? Most assuredly! That at least would be doing something. I'd give my life to it."She raised her fan to her face, which it covered all except her eyes. They rested a moment on his."Don't give your life to it; but give a thought to it every now and then." And with that she wentback to the Countess Gemini.CHAPTER XLIXMadame Merle had not made her appearance at Palazzo Roccanera on the evening of thatThursday of which I have narrated some of the incidents, and Isabel, though she observed herabsence, was not surprised by it. Things had passed between them which added no stimulus tosociability, and to appreciate which we must glance a little backward. It has been mentioned thatMadame Merle returned from Naples shortly after Lord Warburton had left Rome, and that on herfirst meeting with Isabel (whom, to do her justice, she came immediately to see) her first utterancehad been an enquiry as to the whereabouts of this nobleman, for whom she appeared to hold herdear friend accountable."Please don't talk of him," said Isabel for answer; "we've heard so much of him of late."Madame Merle bent her head on one side a little, protestingly, and smiled at the left corner of hermouth. "You've heard, yes. But you must remember that I've not, in Naples. I hoped to find himhere and to be able to congratulate Pansy.""You may congratulate Pansy still; but not on marrying Lord Warburton.""How you say that! Don't you know I had set my heart on it?" Madame Merle asked with a greatdeal of spirit, but still with the intonation of good-humour.Isabel was discomposed, but she was determined to be good-humoured too. "You shouldn't havegone to Naples then. You should have stayed here to watch the affair.""I had too much confidence in you. But do you think it's too late?""You had better ask Pansy," said Isabel."I shall ask her what you've said to her."These words seemed to justify the impulse of self-defence aroused on Isabel's part by herperceiving that her visitor's attitude was a critical one. Madame Merle, as we know, had been verydiscreet hitherto; she had never criticised; she had been markedly afraid of intermeddling. Butapparently she had only reserved herself for this occasion, since she now had a dangerousquickness in her eye and an air of irritation which even her admirable ease was not able totransmute. She had suffered a disappointment which excited Isabel's surprise--our heroine havingno knowledge of her zealous interest in Pansy's marriage; and she betrayed it in a manner whichquickened Mrs. Osmond's alarm. More clearly than ever before Isabel heard a cold, mocking voiceproceed from she knew not where, in the dim void that surrounded her, and declare that this bright,strong, definite, worldly woman, this incarnation of the practical, the personal, the immediate, wasa powerful agent in her destiny. She was nearer to her than Isabel had yet discovered, and hernearness was not the charming accident she had so long supposed. The sense of accident indeed第 340 页 共 391 页原版英语阅读网had died within her that day when she happened to be struck with the manner in which thewonderful lady and her own husband sat together in private. No definite suspicion had as yet takenits place; but it was enough to make her view this friend with a different eye, to have been led toreflect that there was more intention in her past behaviour than she had allowed for at the time. Ahyes, there had been intention, there had been intention, Isabel said to herself; and she seemed towake from a long pernicious dream. What was it that brought home to her that Madame Merle'sintention had not been good? Nothing but the mistrust which had lately taken body and whichmarried itself now to the fruitful wonder produced by her visitor's challenge on behalf of poorPansy. There was something in this challenge which had at the very outset excited an answeringdefiance; a nameless vitality which she could see to have been absent from her friend's professionsof delicacy and caution. Madame Merle had been unwilling to interfere, certainly, but only so longas there was nothing to interfere with. It will perhaps seem to the reader that Isabel went fast incasting doubt, on mere suspicion, on a sincerity proved by several years of good offices. Shemoved quickly indeed, and with reason, for a strange truth was filtering into her soul. MadameMerle's interest was identical with Osmond's: that was enough. "I think Pansy will tell you nothingthat will make you more angry," she said in answer to her companion's last remark."I'm not in the least angry. I've only a great desire to retrieve the situation. Do you consider thatWarburton has left us for ever?""I can't tell you; I don't understand you. It's all over; please let it rest. Osmond has talked to me agreat deal about it, and I've nothing more to say or to hear. I've no doubt," Isabel added, "that he'llbe very happy to discuss the subject with you.""I know what he thinks; he came to see me last evening.""As soon as you had arrived? Then you know all about it and you needn't apply to me forinformation.""It isn't information I want. At bottom it's sympathy. I had set my heart on that marriage; the ideadid what so few things do-- it satisfied the imagination.""Your imagination, yes. But not that of the persons concerned.""You mean by that of course that I'm not concerned. Of course not directly. But when one's suchan old friend one can't help having something at stake. You forget how long I've known Pansy.You mean, of course," Madame Merle added, "that YOU are one of the persons concerned.""No; that's the last thing I mean. I'm very weary of it all."Madame Merle hesitated a little. "Ah yes, your work's done.""Take care what you say," said Isabel very gravely."Oh, I take care; never perhaps more than when it appears least. Your husband judges youseverely."Isabel made for a moment no answer to this; she felt choked with bitterness. It was not theinsolence of Madame Merle's informing her that Osmond had been taking her into his confidenceas against his wife that struck her most; for she was not quick to believe that this was meant forinsolence. Madame Merle was very rarely insolent, and only when it was exactly right. It was notright now, or at least it was not right yet. What touched Isabel like a drop of corrosive acid upon an第 341 页 共 391 页原版英语阅读网open wound was the knowledge that Osmond dishonoured her in his words as well as in histhoughts. "Should you like to know how I judge HIM?" she asked at last."No, because you'd never tell me. And it would be painful for me to know."There was a pause, and for the first time since she had known her Isabel thought Madame Merledisagreeable. She wished she would leave her. "Remember how attractive Pansy is, and don'tdespair," she said abruptly, with a desire that this should close their interview.But Madame Merle's expansive presence underwent no contraction. She only gathered her mantleabout her and, with the movement, scattered upon the air a faint, agreeable fragrance. "I don'tdespair; I feel encouraged. And I didn't come to scold you; I came if possible to learn the truth. Iknow you'll tell it if I ask you. It's an immense blessing with you that one can count upon that. No,you won't believe what a comfort I take in it.""What truth do you speak of?" Isabel asked, wondering."Just this: whether Lord Warburton changed his mind quite of his own movement or because yourecommended it. To please himself I mean, or to please you. Think of the confidence I must stillhave in you, in spite of having lost a little of it," Madame Merle continued with a smile, "to asksuch a question as that!" She sat looking at her friend, to judge the effect of her words, and thenwent on: "Now don't be heroic, don't be unreasonable, don't take offence. It seems to me I do youan honour in speaking so. I don't know another woman to whom I would do it. I haven't the leastidea that any other woman would tell me the truth. And don't you see how well it is that yourhusband should know it? It's true that he doesn't appear to have had any tact whatever in trying toextract it; he has indulged in gratuitous suppositions. But that doesn't alter the fact that it wouldmake a difference in his view of his daughter's prospects to know distinctly what really occurred.If Lord Warburton simply got tired of the poor child, that's one thing, and it's a pity. If he gave herup to please you it's another. That's a pity too, but in a different way. Then, in the latter case, you'dperhaps resign yourself to not being pleased--to simply seeing your step-daughter married. Let himoff--let us have him!"Madame Merle had proceeded very deliberately, watching her companion and apparently thinkingshe could proceed safely. As she went on Isabel grew pale; she clasped her hands more tightly inher lap. It was not that her visitor had at last thought it the right time to be insolent; for this was notwhat was most apparent. It was a worse horror than that. "Who are you--what are you?" Isabelmurmured. "What have you to do with my husband?" It was strange that for the moment she drewas near to him as if she had loved him."Ah then, you take it heroically! I'm very sorry. Don't think, however, that I shall do so.""What have you to do with me?" Isabel went on.Madame Merle slowly got up, stroking her muff, but not removing her eyes from Isabel's face."Everything!" she answered.Isabel sat there looking up at her, without rising; her face was almost a prayer to be enlightened.But the light of this woman's eyes seemed only a darkness. "Oh misery!" she murmured at last; andshe fell back, covering her face with her hands. It had come over her like a high-surging wave that第 342 页 共 391 页原版英语阅读网Mrs. Touchett was right. Madame Merle had married her. Before she uncovered her face again thatlady had left the room.Isabel took a drive alone that afternoon; she wished to be far away, under the sky, where she coulddescend from her carriage and tread upon the daisies. She had long before this taken old Rome intoher confidence, for in a world of ruins the ruin of her happiness seemed a less unnaturalcatastrophe. She rested her weariness upon things that had crumbled for centuries and yet still wereupright; she dropped her secret sadness into the silence of lonely places, where its very modernquality detached itself and grew objective, so that as she sat in a sun-warmed angle on a winter'sday, or stood in a mouldy church to which no one came, she could almost smile at it and think ofits smallness. Small it was, in the large Roman record, and her haunting sense of the continuity ofthe human lot easily carried her from the less to the greater. She had become deeply, tenderlyacquainted with Rome; it interfused and moderated her passion. But she had grown to think of itchiefly as the place where people had suffered. This was what came to her in the starved churches,where the marble columns, transferred from pagan ruins, seemed to offer her a companionship inendurance and the musty incense to be a compound of long-unanswered prayers. There was nogentler nor less consistent heretic than Isabel; the firmest of worshippers, gazing at dark altar-pictures or clustered candles, could not have felt more intimately the suggestiveness of theseobjects nor have been more liable at such moments to a spiritual visitation. Pansy, as we know,was almost always her companion, and of late the Countess Gemini, balancing a pink parasol, hadlent brilliancy to their equipage; but she still occasionally found herself alone when it suited hermood and where it suited the place. On such occasions she had several resorts; the most accessibleof which perhaps was a seat on the low parapet which edges the wide grassy space before the high,cold front of Saint John Lateran, whence you look across the Campagna at the far-trailing outlineof the Alban Mount and at that mighty plain, between, which is still so full of all that has passedfrom it. After the departure of her cousin and his companions she roamed more than usual; shecarried her sombre spirit from one familiar shrine to the other. Even when Pansy and the Countesswere with her she felt the touch of a vanished world. The carriage, leaving the walls of Romebehind, rolled through narrow lanes where the wild honeysuckle had begun to tangle itself in thehedges, or waited for her in quiet places where the fields lay near, while she strolled further andfurther over the flower-freckled turf, or sat on a stone that had once had a use and gazed throughthe veil of her personal sadness at the splendid sadness of the scene--at the dense, warm light, thefar gradations and soft confusions of colour, the motionless shepherds in lonely attitudes, the hillswhere the cloud-shadows had the lightness of a blush.On the afternoon I began with speaking of, she had taken a resolution not to think of MadameMerle; but the resolution proved vain, and this lady's image hovered constantly before her. Sheasked herself, with an almost childlike horror of the supposition, whether to this intimate friend ofseveral years the great historical epithet of wicked were to be applied. She knew the idea only bythe Bible and other literary works; to the best of her belief she had had no personal acquaintancewith wickedness. She had desired a large acquaintance with human life, and in spite of her havingflattered herself that she cultivated it with some success this elementary privilege had been deniedher. Perhaps it was not wicked--in the historic sense--to be even deeply false; for that was whatMadame Merle had been--deeply, deeply, deeply. Isabel's Aunt Lydia had made this discovery第 343 页 共 391 页原版英语阅读网long before, and had mentioned it to her niece; but Isabel had flattered herself at this time that shehad a much richer view of things, especially of the spontaneity of her own career and the noblenessof her own interpretations, than poor stiffly-reasoning Mrs. Touchett. Madame Merle had donewhat she wanted; she had brought about the union of her two friends; a reflection which could notfail to make it a matter of wonder that she should so much have desired such an event. There werepeople who had the match-making passion, like the votaries of art for art; but Madame Merle,great artist as she was, was scarcely one of these. She thought too ill of marriage, too ill even oflife; she had desired that particular marriage but had not desired others. She had therefore had aconception of gain, and Isabel asked herself where she had found her profit. It took her naturally along time to discover, and even then her discovery was imperfect. It came back to her that MadameMerle, though she had seemed to like her from their first meeting at Gardencourt, had been doublyaffectionate after Mr. Touchett's death and after learning that her young friend had been subject tothe good old man's charity. She had found her profit not in the gross device of borrowing money,but in the more refined idea of introducing one of her intimates to the young woman's fresh andingenuous fortune. She had naturally chosen her closest intimate, and it was already vivid enoughto Isabel that Gilbert occupied this position. She found herself confronted in this manner with theconviction that the man in the world whom she had supposed to be the least sordid had marriedher, like a vulgar adventurer, for her money. Strange to say, it had never before occurred to her; ifshe had thought a good deal of harm of Osmond she had not done him this particular injury. Thiswas the worst she could think of, and she had been saying to herself that the worst was still tocome. A man might marry a woman for her money perfectly well; the thing was often done. But atleast he should let her know. She wondered whether, since he had wanted her money, her moneywould now satisfy him. Would he take her money and let her go Ah, if Mr. Touchett's great charitywould but help her to-day it would be blessed indeed! It was not slow to occur to her that ifMadame Merle had wished to do Gilbert a service his recognition to her of the boon must have lost