第 27 页

The idea of this monstrous exposure of her person was so painful to her relations that they could have covered with gold the ingenious person who suddenly discovered that the chair was too wide to pass between the iron uprights of the awning which extended from the church door to the curbstone. The idea of doing away with this awning, and revealing the bride to the mob of dressmakers and newspaper reporters who stood outside fighting to get near the joints of the canvas, exceeded even old Catherine's courage, though for a moment she had weighed the possibility. "Why, they might take a photograph of my child AND PUT IT IN THE PAPERS!" Mrs. Welland exclaimed when her mother's last plan was hinted to her; and from this unthinkable indecency the clan recoiled with a collective shudder. The ancestress had had to give in; but her concession was bought only by the promise that the wedding- breakfast should take place under her roof, though (as the Washington Square connection said) with the Wellands' house in easy reach it was hard to have to make a special price with Brown to drive one to the other end of nowhere.

Though all these transactions had been widely reported by the Jacksons a sporting minority still clung to the belief that old Catherine would appear in church, and there was a distinct lowering of the temperature when she was found to have been replaced by her daughter-in-law. Mrs. Lovell Mingott had the high colour and glassy stare induced in ladies of her age and habit by the effort of getting into a new dress; but once the disappointment occasioned by her mother-in-law's non-appearance had subsided, it was agreed that her black Chantilly over lilac satin, with a bonnet of Parma violets, formed the happiest contrast to Mrs. Welland's blue and plum-colour. Far different was the impression produced by the gaunt and mincing lady who followed on Mr. Mingott's arm, in a wild dishevelment of stripes and fringes and floating scarves; and as this last apparition glided into view Archer's heart contracted and stopped beating.

He had taken it for granted that the Marchioness Manson was still in Washington, where she had gone some four weeks previously with her niece, Madame Olenska. It was generally understood that their abrupt departure was due to Madame Olenska's desire to remove her aunt from the baleful eloquence of Dr. Agathon Carver, who had nearly succeeded in enlisting her as a recruit for the Valley of Love; and in the circumstances no one had expected either of the ladies to return for the wedding. For a moment Archer stood with his eyes fixed on Medora's fantastic figure, straining to see who came behind her; but the little procession was at an end, for all the lesser members of the family had taken their seats, and the eight tall ushers, gathering themselves together like birds or insects preparing for some migratory manoeuvre, were already slipping through the side doors into the lobby.

"Newland--I say: SHE'S HERE!" the best man whispered.

Archer roused himself with a start.

A long time had apparently passed since his heart had stopped beating, for the white and rosy procession was in fact half way up the nave, the Bishop, the Rector and two white-winged assistants were hovering about the flower-banked altar, and the first chords of the Spohr symphony were strewing their flower-like notes before the bride.

Archer opened his eyes (but could they really have been shut, as he imagined?), and felt his heart beginning to resume its usual task. The music, the scent of the lilies on the altar, the vision of the cloud of tulle and orange-blossoms floating nearer and nearer, the sight of Mrs. Archer's face suddenly convulsed with happy sobs, the low benedictory murmur of the Rector's voice, the ordered evolutions of the eight pink bridesmaids and the eight black ushers: all these sights, sounds and sensations, so familiar in themselves, so unutterably strange and meaningless in his new relation to them, were confusedly mingled in his brain.

"My God," he thought, "HAVE I got the ring?"--and once more he went through the bridegroom's convulsive gesture.

Then, in a moment, May was beside him, such radiance streaming from her that it sent a faint warmth through his numbness, and he straightened himself and smiled into her eyes.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here," the Rector began . . .

The ring was on her hand, the Bishop's benediction had been given, the bridesmaids were a-poise to resume their place in the procession, and the organ was showing preliminary symptoms of breaking out into the Mendelssohn March, without which no newly-wedded couple had ever emerged upon New York.

"Your arm--I SAY, GIVE HER YOUR ARM!" young Newland nervously hissed; and once more Archer became aware of having been adrift far off in the unknown. What was it that had sent him there, he wondered? Perhaps the glimpse, among the anonymous spectators in the transept, of a dark coil of hair under a hat which, a moment later, revealed itself as belonging to an unknown lady with a long nose, so laughably unlike the person whose image she had evoked that he asked himself if he were becoming subject to hallucinations.

And now he and his wife were pacing slowly down the nave, carried forward on the light Mendelssohn ripples, the spring day beckoning to them through widely opened doors, and Mrs. Welland's chestnuts, with big white favours on their frontlets, curvetting and showing off at the far end of the canvas tunnel.

The footman, who had a still bigger white favour on his lapel, wrapped May's white cloak about her, and Archer jumped into the brougham at her side. She turned to him with a triumphant smile and their hands clasped under her veil.

"Darling!" Archer said--and suddenly the same black abyss yawned before him and he felt himself sinking into it, deeper and deeper, while his voice rambled on smoothly and cheerfully: "Yes, of course I thought I'd lost the ring; no wedding would be complete if the poor devil of a bridegroom didn't go through that. But you DID keep me waiting, you know! I had time to think of every horror that might possibly happen."

She surprised him by turning, in full Fifth Avenue, and flinging her arms about his neck. "But none ever CAN happen now, can it, Newland, as long as we two are together?"

Every detail of the day had been so carefully thought out that the young couple, after the wedding-breakfast, had ample time to put on their travelling-clothes, descend the wide Mingott stairs between laughing bridesmaids and weeping parents, and get into the brougham under the traditional shower of rice and satin slippers; and there was still half an hour left in which to drive to the station, buy the last weeklies at the bookstall with the air of seasoned travellers, and settle themselves in the reserved compartment in which May's maid had already placed her dove-coloured travelling cloak and glaringly new dressing-bag from London.

The old du Lac aunts at Rhinebeck had put their house at the disposal of the bridal couple, with a readiness inspired by the prospect of spending a week in New York with Mrs. Archer; and Archer, glad to escape the usual "bridal suite" in a Philadelphia or Baltimore hotel, had accepted with an equal alacrity.

May was enchanted at the idea of going to the country, and childishly amused at the vain efforts of the eight bridesmaids to discover where their mysterious retreat was situated. It was thought "very English" to have a country-house lent to one, and the fact gave a last touch of distinction to what was generally conceded to be the most brilliant wedding of the year; but where the house was no one was permitted to know, except the parents of bride and groom, who, when taxed with the knowledge, pursed their lips and said mysteriously: "Ah, they didn't tell us--" which was manifestly true, since there was no need to.

Once they were settled in their compartment, and the train, shaking off the endless wooden suburbs, had pushed out into the pale landscape of spring, talk became easier than Archer had expected. May was still, in look and tone, the simple girl of yesterday, eager to compare notes with him as to the incidents of the wedding, and discussing them as impartially as a bridesmaid talking it all over with an usher. At first Archer had fancied that this detachment was the disguise of an inward tremor; but her clear eyes revealed only the most tranquil unawareness. She was alone for the first time with her husband; but her husband was only the charming comrade of yesterday. There was no one whom she liked as much, no one whom she trusted as completely, and the culminating "lark" of the whole delightful adventure of engagement and marriage was to be off with him alone on a journey, like a grownup person, like a "married woman," in fact.

It was wonderful that--as he had learned in the Mission garden at St. Augustine--such depths of feeling could coexist with such absence of imagination. But he remembered how, even then, she had surprised him by dropping back to inexpressive girlishness as soon as her conscience had been eased of its burden; and he saw that she would probably go through life dealing to the best of her ability with each experience as it came, but never anticipating any by so much as a stolen glance.

Perhaps that faculty of unawareness was what gave her eyes their transparency, and her face the look of representing a type rather than a person; as if she might have been chosen to pose for a Civic Virtue or a Greek goddess. The blood that ran so close to her fair skin might have been a preserving fluid rather than a ravaging element; yet her look of indestructible youthfulness made her seem neither hard nor dull, but only primitive and pure. In the thick of this meditation Archer suddenly felt himself looking at her with the startled gaze of a stranger, and plunged into a reminiscence of the wedding-breakfast and of Granny Mingott's immense and triumphant pervasion of it.

May settled down to frank enjoyment of the subject. "I was surprised, though--weren't you?--that aunt Medora came after all. Ellen wrote that they were neither of them well enough to take the journey; I do wish it had been she who had recovered! Did you see the exquisite old lace she sent me?"

He had known that the moment must come sooner or later, but he had somewhat imagined that by force of willing he might hold it at bay.

"Yes--I--no: yes, it was beautiful," he said, looking at her blindly, and wondering if, whenever he heard those two syllables, all his carefully built-up world would tumble about him like a house of cards.

"Aren't you tired? It will be good to have some tea when we arrive--I'm sure the aunts have got everything beautifully ready," he rattled on, taking her hand in his; and her mind rushed away instantly to the magnificent tea and coffee service of Baltimore silver which the Beauforts had sent, and which "went" so perfectly with uncle Lovell Mingott's trays and sidedishes.

In the spring twilight the train stopped at the Rhinebeck station, and they walked along the platform to the waiting carriage.

"Ah, how awfully kind of the van der Luydens-- they've sent their man over from Skuytercliff to meet us," Archer exclaimed, as a sedate person out of livery approached them and relieved the maid of her bags.

"I'm extremely sorry, sir," said this emissary, "that a little accident has occurred at the Miss du Lacs': a leak in the water-tank. It happened yesterday, and Mr. van der Luyden, who heard of it this morning, sent a housemaid up by the early train to get the Patroon's house ready. It will be quite comfortable, I think you'll find, sir; and the Miss du Lacs have sent their cook over, so that it will be exactly the same as if you'd been at Rhinebeck."

Archer stared at the speaker so blankly that he repeated in still more apologetic accents: "It'll be exactly the same, sir, I do assure you--" and May's eager voice broke out, covering the embarrassed silence: "The same as Rhinebeck? The Patroon's house? But it will be a hundred thousand times better--won't it, Newland? It's too dear and kind of Mr. van der Luyden to have thought of it."

And as they drove off, with the maid beside the coachman, and their shining bridal bags on the seat before them, she went on excitedly: "Only fancy, I've never been inside it--have you? The van der Luydens show it to so few people. But they opened it for Ellen, it seems, and she told me what a darling little place it was: she says it's the only house she's seen in America that she could imagine being perfectly happy in."

"Well--that's what we're going to be, isn't it?" cried her husband gaily; and she answered with her boyish smile: "Ah, it's just our luck beginning--the wonderful luck we're always going to have together!"

这一天天气晴朗，清新的春风里满是尘埃。两家的老夫人都各自从衣柜里取出了褪色变黄的黑貂皮围巾和貂皮袍。前排座位上飘来的樟脑味几乎淹没了围绕圣坛的丁香花散发的微弱的春天气息。

随着教堂司事的一个信号，纽兰•阿切尔走出小礼拜室，在伴郎的陪伴下，站到格雷斯教堂圣坛的台阶上。

这一信号表明，载着新娘和她父亲的马车已遥遥在望，但必然还有相当长的时间可在门厅里整顿。商量，伴娘们也已在此徘徊，像复活节里的一簇鲜花。在这段不可避免的等待时间里，人们期待着新郎独自面对他们，以显示他迫不及待的心情。阿切尔跟履行其他仪式一样，驯服地履行了这一仪式。这些仪式构成了似乎仍属于历史之初的纽约19世纪的婚礼。在他承诺要走的道路上，每件事都一样的轻松——或是一样的痛苦，这要看你怎样认为。他已经执行了伴郎慌慌张张下达的各项指令，其态度跟以前他引导的新郎们走过这座迷宫时一样的虔诚。

至此为止，他有理由相信已经完成了自己的使命。伴娘的8束白丁香和铃兰花束、8位引座员的黄金与蓝宝石袖纽及伴郎的猫眼围巾饰针都已按时送了出去；他熬了半夜斟酌措辞。写信答谢最后一批朋友与旧情人赠送的礼物；给主教和教堂司事的小费也已稳妥地放在了伴郎的口袋里；他的行李和旅行替换的衣服已经运到了曼森•明戈特太太家中，婚礼喜宴将在那儿举办；火车上的私人包间也已订好，将把这对新人送到未知的目的地——隐匿欢度新婚之夜的地点是远古礼仪中最神圣的戒律。

“戒指放好了吗？”小范德卢顿•纽兰低声问道，这个毫无经验的伴郎，被自己所担负的重任吓坏了。

阿切尔做了个他见过很多新郎做过的动作：用他没戴手套的右手在深灰色马甲的口袋中摸了摸，以便再次肯定这枚小小的金戒指（戒指内圈刻着：纽兰给梅，4月 ——，187——）正呆在它该呆的地方。然后他又恢复了原来的姿势，左手拿着高礼帽和带黑线脚的珠灰色手套，站在那儿望着教堂的门。

教堂上空，韩德尔的进行曲在仿制的石头拱顶下越奏越响。随着乐曲的起伏，已经淡忘的众多婚礼的片段又浮现在眼前。那时他站在同一圣坛的台阶上，兴高采烈却又漠不关心地看着别的新娘们飘然进入教堂中殿，朝别的新郎走去。

“多像歌剧院的第一夜演出啊！”他想。他认出了在相同包厢里（不，是教堂的长凳上）那些相同的面孔，继而猜测着，当喇叭最后一次奏响时，是否会见到头戴同一顶高耸的驼鸟毛无沿帽的塞尔弗里奇•梅里太太和佩戴相同的钻石耳环、面带相同的微笑的博福特太太——并且，在天国里，是否也在前排为她们准备好了合适的座位。

在这之后，仍然有时间一个挨一个地检阅在前排就座的一张张熟悉的面孔。女人们因好奇与兴奋而显得生气勃勃，男人们则因不得不在午餐前穿长礼服并要在婚礼喜宴上争抢食物而紧绷着脸。

“要在老凯瑟琳家吃喜宴真是糟透了，”新郎想象得出里吉•奇弗斯会这样说。“据我所知，洛弗尔•明戈特坚持要让自己的厨子掌勺，所以只要能吃得上，准是顿美餐。”而且，他还想象到，西勒顿•杰克逊会权威地补充说：“亲爱的先生，难道你还没听说？喜宴要按英国的时新方式，在小餐桌上用餐呢。”

阿切尔的目光在左首长凳上停留了片刻，她的母亲挽着亨利•范德卢顿先生的胳膊进入教堂后，正坐在那儿，躲在尚蒂伊面纱后轻轻抽泣，两只手抄在她祖母的貂皮暖手筒里。

“可怜的詹妮！”他看了看妹妹想。“即使把她的头扭一圈，她也只能看到前面几排的人；他们几乎全是邋邋遢遢的纽兰和达戈内特家族的人。”

白色缎带的这一边是为亲戚分隔出来的座位，他看到了博福特：高高的个子，红红的脸膛，正以傲慢的眼神审视着女人们。坐在他身边的是他妻子，两人都穿着银白色栗鼠皮衣服，别着紫罗兰花；离缎带较远的一侧，劳伦斯•莱弗茨脑袋梳得油光发亮，仿佛正守卫着主持庆典的那位不露面的‘忧雅举止”之神。

阿切尔心想，在他的神圣庆典中，不知莱弗茨那双锐利的眼睛会挑出多少暇疵。接着，他忽然想起自己也曾把这些问题看得至关重要。这些一度充斥他生活的事情，现在看来就像保育院里孩子们滑稽的表演，或者像中世纪的学究们为了谁也不懂的形而上学术语喋喋不休的争论。关于是否“展示”结婚礼品而引发的激烈争吵使婚礼前的几个小时变得一片混乱。阿切尔感到不可理解，一群成年人怎么竟会为这样一些琐事而大动肝火，而争论的结果竟由韦兰太太一句话作出（否定的）裁决—— 她气得流着泪说：“我马上就把记者们放进家里来。”然而有一段时间，阿切尔曾对所有这些事给予明确积极的评价，认为涉及到他小家族的行为方式与习惯的任何事情都具有深远的意义。