The Age of Innocence, Chapter 41

歌手： Edith Wharton • 专辑：The Age of Innocence (unabridged) • 发布时间：2017-01-27 
作词 : Edith Wharton
The AGE of INNOCENCE

BY EDITH WHARTON

BOOK I

Chapter 17

“Your cousin the Countess called on mother while you were away,”
Janey Archer announced to her brother on the evening of his return.

The young man, who was dining alone with his mother and sister,
glanced up in surprise
and saw Mrs. Archer’s gaze demurely bent on her plate.
Mrs. Archer did not regard her seclusion from the world
as a reason for being forgotten by it;
and Newland guessed
that she was slightly annoyed that he should be surprised by Madame Olenska’s visit.

“She had on a black velvet polonaise
with jet buttons,
and a tiny green monkey muff;
I never saw her so stylishly dressed,”
Janey continued.
“She came alone,
early on Sunday afternoon;
luckily the fire was lit in the drawing-room.
She had one of those new card-cases.
She said she wanted to know us
because you’d been so good to her.”

Newland laughed.
“Madame Olenska always takes that tone about her friends.
She’s very happy at being among her own people again.”

“Yes, so she told us,”
said Mrs. Archer.
“I must say she seems thankful to be here.”

“I hope you liked her, mother.”

Mrs. Archer drew her lips together.
“She certainly lays herself out to please,
even when she is calling on an old lady.”

“Mother doesn’t think her simple,”
Janey interjected,
her eyes screwed upon her brother’s face.

“It’s just my old-fashioned feeling;
dear May is my ideal,”
said Mrs. Archer.

“Ah,” said her son,
“they’re not alike.”


Archer had left St. Augustine charged
with many messages for old Mrs. Mingott;
and a day or two after his return to town he called on her.

The old lady received him with unusual warmth;
she was grateful to him for persuading the Countess Olenska
to give up the idea of a divorce;
and when he told her
that he had deserted the office without leave,
and rushed down to St. Augustine
simply because he wanted to see May,
she gave an adipose chuckle
and patted his knee with her puff-ball hand.

“Ah, ah—
so you kicked over the traces, did you?
And I suppose Augusta and Welland pulled long faces,
and behaved as if the end of the world had come?
But little May—
she knew better, I’ll be bound?”

“I hoped she did;
but after all she wouldn’t agree
to what I’d gone down to ask for.”

“Wouldn’t she indeed?
And what was that?”

“I wanted to get her to promise
that we should be married in April.
What’s the use of our wasting another year?”

Mrs. Manson Mingott screwed up her little mouth
into a grimace of mimic prudery
and twinkled at him through malicious lids.
“ ‘Ask Mamma,’ I suppose—
the usual story.
Ah, these Mingotts—all alike!
Born in a rut,
and you can’t root ’em out of it.
When I built this house
you’d have thought I was moving to California!
Nobody ever had built above Fortieth Street—
no, says I,
nor above the Battery either, before Christopher Columbus discovered America.
No, no;
not one of them wants to be different;
they’re as scared of it as the small-pox.
Ah, my dear Mr. Archer,
I thank my stars
I’m nothing but a vulgar Spicer;
but there’s not one of my own children that takes after me
but my little Ellen.”
She broke off, still twinkling at him,
and asked, with the casual irrelevance of old age:
“Now, why in the world didn’t you marry my little Ellen?”

Archer laughed.
“For one thing,
she wasn’t there to be married.”

“No—to be sure; more’s the pity.
And now it’s too late;
her life is finished.”
She spoke with the cold-blooded complacency of the aged throwing earth into the grave of young hopes.
The young man’s heart grew chill,
and he said hurriedly:
“Can’t I persuade you to use your influence with the Wellands, Mrs. Mingott?
I wasn’t made for long engagements.”

Old Catherine beamed on him approvingly.
“No; I can see that.
You’ve got a quick eye.
When you were a little boy
I’ve no doubt you liked to be helped first.”
She threw back her head with a laugh
that made her chins ripple like little waves.
“Ah, here’s my Ellen now!”
she exclaimed,
as the portières parted behind her.

Madame Olenska came forward with a smile.
Her face looked vivid and happy,
and she held out her hand gaily to Archer
while she stooped to her grandmother’s kiss.

“I was just saying to him, my dear:
‘Now, why didn’t you marry my little Ellen?’ ”

Madame Olenska looked at Archer, still smiling.
“And what did he answer?”

“Oh, my darling,
I leave you to find that out!
He’s been down to Florida to see his sweetheart.”

“Yes, I know.”
She still looked at him.
“I went to see your mother,
to ask where you’d gone.
I sent a note that you never answered,
and I was afraid you were ill.”

He muttered something about leaving unexpectedly, in a great hurry,
and having intended to write to her from St. Augustine.

“And of course once you were there you never thought of me again!”
She continued to beam on him
with a gaiety that might have been a studied assumption of indifference.

“If she still needs me,
she’s determined not to let me see it,”
he thought, stung by her manner.
He wanted to thank her for having been to see his mother,
but under the ancestress’s malicious eye
he felt himself tongue-tied and constrained.

“Look at him—
in such hot haste to get married
that he took French leave
and rushed down to implore the silly girl on his knees!
That’s something like a lover—
that’s the way handsome Bob Spicer carried off my poor mother;
and then got tired of her before I was weaned—
though they only had to wait eight months for me!
But there—
you’re not a Spicer, young man;
luckily for you and for May.
It’s only my poor Ellen
that has kept any of their wicked blood;
the rest of them are all model Mingotts,”
cried the old lady scornfully.
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