第 3 页

She made way for him by pushing back her chair, and promptly, and a little ostentatiously, with the desire that the whole house should see what he was doing, Archer seated himself at the Countess Olenska's side.

"We DID use to play together, didn't we?" she asked, turning her grave eyes to his. "You were a horrid boy, and kissed me once behind a door; but it was your cousin Vandie Newland, who never looked at me, that I was in love with." Her glance swept the horse-shoe curve of boxes. "Ah, how this brings it all back to me--I see everybody here in knickerbockers and pantalettes," she said, with her trailing slightly foreign accent, her eyes returning to his face.

Agreeable as their expression was, the young man was shocked that they should reflect so unseemly a picture of the august tribunal before which, at that very moment, her case was being tried. Nothing could be in worse taste than misplaced flippancy; and he answered somewhat stiffly: "Yes, you have been away a very long time."

"Oh, centuries and centuries; so long," she said, "that I'm sure I'm dead and buried, and this dear old place is heaven;" which, for reasons he could not define, struck Newland Archer as an even more disrespectful way of describing New York society.

在这个短暂的插曲中间，纽兰•阿切尔陷入一种奇怪的尴尬境地。

讨厌的是，如此吸引着纽约男性世界全部注意力的包厢竟是他未婚妻就坐的那一个，她坐在母亲与舅妈中间。他一时竟认不出那位穿着法国30年代服装的女士，也想象不出她的出现为什么会在俱乐部会员中引起如此的兴奋。接着，他明白过来，并随之产生一阵愤慨。的确，没有人会想到明戈特家的人会摆出这种架式！

然而他们这样做了。毫无疑义，他们是这样做了；因为阿切尔身后低声的评论使他心中没有丝毫怀疑，那位年轻女子就是梅•韦兰的表姐，那位家里人一直称作“可怜的埃伦•奥兰斯卡”的表姐。阿切尔知道她一两天前突然从欧洲回来了，甚至还听韦兰小姐（并非不满地）说过，她已经去看过可怜的埃伦了。她住在老明戈特太太那儿。阿切尔完全拥护家族的团结。他最崇拜的明戈特家族的品德之一，就是他们对家族中出的几个不肖子弟的坚决支持。他并不自私，也不是小鸡肚肠；他未来的妻子没有受到假正经的局限，能（私下）善待她不幸的表姐，他还为此感到高兴。然而，在家庭圈子内接待奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人是一回事，把她带到公共场所，尤其是歌剧院这样的地方，则是完全不同的另一回事。而且就在那位年轻姑娘的包厢里，她与他纽兰•阿切尔的订婚消息几周之内就要宣布。是的，他的感觉与老西勒顿•杰克逊一样：他没想到明戈特家的人会摆出这种架式！

他当然知道，男人敢做的任何事（第五大街范围之内），老曼森•明戈特太太这位女族长都敢做。他一向崇拜这位高大刚毅的老夫人，尽管她原来不过是斯塔腾岛的凯瑟琳•斯派塞，有一位神秘的名誉扫地的父亲，那件事无论金钱还是地位都难以让人们忘记。然而，她却与富有的明戈特家族的领头人联了姻，把两个女儿嫁给了 “外国人”（一个意大利侯爵，一个英国银行家），并且在中央公园附近无法插足的荒地里建了一所乳白色石头大宅院（正值棕色沙石仿佛像下午的长礼服那样青一色的时候），从而达到了登峰造极的地步。

老明戈特太太的两个外籍女儿成了一则神话故事。她们从不回来看望母亲。母亲依恋故土且身体肥胖，像许多思想活跃意志专横的人那样，一直达观地留在家中，而那幢乳白色的房子（据说是仿照巴黎贵族的私人旅馆建造的）却成了她大无畏精神的见证。她在里面登上宝座，平静地生活在独立战争前的家具与路易•拿破仑杜伊勒利宫（她中年时曾在那儿大出风头）的纪念品中间，仿佛住在34街以北、用开得像门一样大的法式窗户代替推拉式吊窗丝毫不足为怪似的。

人人（包括西勒顿•杰克逊先生）都一致认为，老凯瑟琳从没拥有过美貌，而在纽约人眼中，美貌是成功的保证，也可作为某些失败的借口。不友善的人们说，像她那位大英帝国的同名女人一样，她获得成功靠的是意志力量与冷酷心肠，外加一种由于私生活绝对正派而使她在一定程度上免遭非议的傲慢。曼森•明戈特先生去世的时候她只有28岁。出于对斯派塞家族的不信任，他用一条附加条款“冻结”了自己的遗产。他那位年轻、果敢的遗孀大无畏地走着自己的路，她无拘无束地混迹在外国的社交界，把女儿嫁到天知道何等腐化时髦的圈子里，与公爵大使们开怀畅饮，与教皇政治家亲密交往，款待歌剧演员，并做了芭蕾名门之后塔戈里奥尼夫人的密友。与此同时（正如西勒顿•杰克逊首先宣布的），关于她的名声却从没有一句口舌。这是她惟一一点，他总是接着说，与以前那位凯瑟琳的不同之处。

曼森•明戈特太太早已解冻了丈夫的财产，并殷殷实实地活了半个世纪。早年困境的记忆使她格外节俭，虽然她在买衣服或添置家具时总是关照要最好的，但却舍不得为餐桌上瞬间的享乐过多破费。所以，由于完全不同的原因，她的饭菜跟阿切尔太太家一样差，她的酒也不能为之增光添彩。亲戚们认为，她餐桌上的吝啬损害了明戈特家的名誉——它一向是与吃喝讲究连在一起的。然而人们还是不顾那些“拼盘”与走味的香摈，继续到她家来。针对她儿子洛弗尔的劝告（他企图雇佣纽约最好的厨师以恢复家族的名誉），她常常笑着说：“既然姑娘们都嫁出去了，我又不能用调味品，一个家庭用两个好厨师还有什么用？”

纽兰•阿切尔一面沉思着这些事情，又把目光转向了明戈特包厢。他见韦兰太太与她的嫂嫂正带着老凯瑟琳向族人灌输的那种明戈特家特有的自恃面对着组成半圆形的批评者。只有梅•韦兰面色绯红（也许由于知道他在看她），流露出事态严峻的意味。至于引起骚动的那一位，依然优雅地坐在包厢角落里，两眼凝视着舞台。由于身体前倾，她肩膀和胸部露得比纽约社会习惯看到的稍稍多了一点，至少在那些有理由希望不引起注意的女士们中间是如此。

在纽兰•阿切尔看来，很少有什么事比与“品味”相悖更难堪的了。品味是一种看不见的神韵，“举止”仅仅是它直观的替代物与代表。奥兰斯卡夫人苍白而严肃的面孔，按他的想象是适合于这种场合及她的不幸处境的，但她的衣服（没有衣领）从那单薄的肩头坡下去的样式却令他震惊不安。他不愿设想梅•韦兰受到一个如此不顾品味和情趣的年轻女子的影响。

“究竟——”他听到身后一个年轻人开口说（在靡菲斯特与玛莎的几场戏中，大家自始至终都在交谈），“究竟发生了什么事？”

“哦——她离开了他；谁也不想否认这一点。”

“他是个可怕的畜牲，不是吗？”年轻人接着说，他是索利家族中一位直率的人，显然准备加入那位女士的护花使者之列。

“一个糟糕透了的家伙；我在尼斯见过他，”劳伦斯•莱弗茨以权威的口气说。“老喝得半醉，苍白的面孔上露出讥笑——但脑袋倒很漂亮，不过眼睫毛太多。噢，我来告诉你他那德行：他不是跟女人在一起，就是去收集瓷器。据我所知，他对两者都不惜任何代价。”

这话引出一阵哄堂大笑，那位年轻的护花使者说：“唔，可是——”

“唔，可是，她跟他的秘书逃跑了。”

“噢，我明白了。”护花使者的脸沉了下来。

“可是，这并没有持续多久：我听说她几个月后就独自住在威尼斯，我相信洛弗尔•明戈特那次出国是去找她的。他曾说她非常地不快活。现在没事了——不过在歌剧院里这样炫耀她却另当别论。”

“也许，”那位小索利冒险地说，“她太不快活了，不会愿意一个人被晾在家里。”

这话引来一阵无礼的笑声，年轻人脸色深红，竭力装出是想巧妙使用聪明人所说的“双关语”的样子。

“唔——不管怎么说，把韦兰小姐带来总是令人费解，”有人悄悄地说，一面斜视了阿切尔一眼。

“噢，这是运动的一个组成部分嘛：肯定是老祖宗的命令，”莱弗茨笑着说。“老夫人要是干一件事，总要干得完全彻底。”

这一幕结束了，包厢里一阵普遍的骚动。纽兰•阿切尔突然感到必须采取果断行动。他要第一个走进明戈特太太的包厢，第一个向期望中的社交界宣布他与梅•韦兰的订婚消息，第一个去帮助她度过表姐的异常处境可能使她卷人的任何困难。这一冲动猛然间压倒了一切顾虑与迟疑，促使他匆匆穿过一节节红色走廊，向剧院较远的一端走去。

进入包厢的时候，他的眼睛遇到了韦兰小姐的目光，而且他发现她立即明白了他的来意，尽管家族的尊严不允许她对他明讲——两个人都认为这是一种很高尚的美德。他们这个圈子的人都生活在一种含而不露、稍显矜持的气氛中，年轻人觉得，他与她不用说一句话就能互相沟通，任何解释都不能使他们更加贴近。她的眼睛在说：“你明白妈妈为什么带我来。”他的眼睛则回答：“无论如何我都不肯让你离开这儿。”

“你认识我的侄女奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人吗？”韦兰太太与她未来的女婿握手时问道。按照引见给女士的习惯，阿切尔欠一下身子，没有伸出手；埃伦•奥兰斯卡轻轻低一下头，两只戴浅色手套的手继续握着那把大鹰毛扇子。与洛弗尔•明戈特太太打过招呼——她是个大块头的金发女人，穿一身悉索作响的缎子衣裙——他在未婚妻的身旁坐下，低声说：“我希望你已经告诉奥兰斯卡夫人我们订婚了吧？我想让每个人都知道——我要你允许我今晚在舞会上宣布。”

韦兰小姐的脸变成曙光般的玫瑰红色，她两眼发光地看着他。“如果你能说服妈妈的话，”她说，“不过，已经定了的事，干吗要改变呢？”他没有说话，只用眼睛做了回答。她信心更足地笑着补充说：“你自己告诉我表姐吧，我允许你。她说你还是孩子的时候，她常和你一起玩耍。”

她把椅子向后推了推，给他让出了路。阿切尔怀着一种让全场的人都能看见自己的举动的愿望，立刻示威性地坐到了奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人身边。

“我们过去的确常在一起玩，不是吗？”她问道，一面用严肃的目光看着他的眼睛。“你那时是个很讨厌的男孩，有一次你在门后面吻了我，但那时我爱上的却是你的堂兄范迪•纽兰，可他从来不看我一眼。”她的目光扫视着那些马蹄形排列的包厢。“啊，这场面多让我回想起过去的一切啊——我发现这里人人都穿灯笼裤或宽松裤，”她带着略微拖长的异国口音说，目光又回到他的脸上。

这番话尽管表达的感情是令人愉快的，却竟然使他想到了威严的法庭，这一不相称的联想令年轻人感到震惊。而此时此刻，这个法庭就摆在她的面前，她的案子正在进行审理。没有什么东西比不合时宜的轻率更有伤大雅了。他有点生硬地回答说：“是啊，你离开这儿已经很久了。”

“啊，好像有好几百年了。太久了，”她说，“让我觉得自己已经死了，被埋掉了，而这方亲切的故土就是天堂。”说不清是什么理由，纽兰•阿切尔只觉得这样形容纽约社会就更加失礼了。

Chapter 3

It invariably happened in the same way.

Mrs. Julius Beaufort, on the night of her annual ball, never failed to appear at the Opera; indeed, she always gave her ball on an Opera night in order to emphasise her complete superiority to household cares, and her possession of a staff of servants competent to organise every detail of the entertainment in her absence.

The Beauforts' house was one of the few in New York that possessed a ball-room (it antedated even Mrs. Manson Mingott's and the Headly Chiverses'); and at a time when it was beginning to be thought "provincial" to put a "crash" over the drawing-room floor and move the furniture upstairs, the possession of a ball-room that was used for no other purpose, and left for three-hundred-and-sixty-four days of the year to shuttered darkness, with its gilt chairs stacked in a corner and its chandelier in a bag; this undoubted superiority was felt to compensate for whatever was regrettable in the Beaufort past.

Mrs. Archer, who was fond of coining her social philosophy into axioms, had once said: "We all have our pet common people--" and though the phrase was a daring one, its truth was secretly admitted in many an exclusive bosom. But the Beauforts were not exactly common; some people said they were even worse. Mrs. Beaufort belonged indeed to one of America's most honoured families; she had been the lovely Regina Dallas (of the South Carolina branch), a penniless beauty introduced to New York society by her cousin, the imprudent Medora Manson, who was always doing the wrong thing from the right motive. When one was related to the Mansons and the Rushworths one had a "droit de cite" (as Mr. Sillerton Jackson, who had frequented the Tuileries, called it) in New York society; but did one not forfeit it in marrying Julius Beaufort?

The question was: who was Beaufort? He passed for an Englishman, was agreeable, handsome, ill-tempered, hospitable and witty. He had come to America with letters of recommendation from old Mrs. Manson Mingott's English son-in-law, the banker, and had speedily made himself an important position in the world of affairs; but his habits were dissipated, his tongue was bitter, his antecedents were mysterious; and when Medora Manson announced her cousin's engagement to him it was felt to be one more act of folly in poor Medora's long record of imprudences.

But folly is as often justified of her children as wisdom, and two years after young Mrs. Beaufort's marriage it was admitted that she had the most distinguished house in New York. No one knew exactly how the miracle was accomplished. She was indolent, passive, the caustic even called her dull; but dressed like an idol, hung with pearls, growing younger and blonder and more beautiful each year, she throned in Mr. Beaufort's heavy brown-stone palace, and drew all the world there without lifting her jewelled little finger. The knowing people said it was Beaufort himself who trained the servants, taught the chef new dishes, told the gardeners what hot-house flowers to grow for the dinner-table and the drawing-rooms, selected the guests, brewed the after-dinner punch and dictated the little notes his wife wrote to her friends. If he did, these domestic activities were privately performed, and he presented to the world the appearance of a careless and hospitable millionaire strolling into his own drawing-room with the detachment of an invited guest, and saying: "My wife's gloxinias are a marvel, aren't they? I believe she gets them out from Kew."

Mr. Beaufort's secret, people were agreed, was the way he carried things off. It was all very well to whisper that he had been "helped" to leave England by the international banking-house in which he had been employed; he carried off that rumour as easily as the rest--though New York's business conscience was no less sensitive than its moral standard--he carried everything before him, and all New York into his drawing- rooms, and for over twenty years now people had said they were "going to the Beauforts'" with the same tone of security as if they had said they were going to Mrs. Manson Mingott's, and with the added satisfaction of knowing they would get hot canvas-back ducks and vintage wines, instead of tepid Veuve Clicquot without a year and warmed-up croquettes from Philadelphia.

Mrs. Beaufort, then, had as usual appeared in her box just before the Jewel Song; and when, again as usual, she rose at the end of the third act, drew her opera cloak about her lovely shoulders, and disappeared, New York knew that meant that half an hour later the ball would begin.

The Beaufort house was one that New Yorkers were proud to show to foreigners, especially on the night of the annual ball. The Beauforts had been among the first people in New York to own their own red velvet carpet and have it rolled down the steps by their own footmen, under their own awning, instead of hiring it with the supper and the ball-room chairs. They had also inaugurated the custom of letting the ladies take their cloaks off in the hall, instead of shuffling up to the hostess's bedroom and recurling their hair with the aid of the gas-burner; Beaufort was understood to have said that he supposed all his wife's friends had maids who saw to it that they were properly coiffees when they left home.

Then the house had been boldly planned with a ball-room, so that, instead of squeezing through a narrow passage to get to it (as at the Chiverses') one marched solemnly down a vista of enfiladed drawing- rooms (the sea-green, the crimson and the bouton d'or), seeing from afar the many-candled lustres reflected in the polished parquetry, and beyond that the depths of a conservatory where camellias and tree-ferns arched their costly foliage over seats of black and gold bamboo.

Newland Archer, as became a young man of his position, strolled in somewhat late. He had left his overcoat with the silk-stockinged footmen (the stockings were one of Beaufort's few fatuities), had dawdled a while in the library hung with Spanish leather and furnished with Buhl and malachite, where a few men were chatting and putting on their dancing-gloves, and had finally joined the line of guests whom Mrs. Beaufort was receiving on the threshold of the crimson drawing-room.

Archer was distinctly nervous. He had not gone back to his club after the Opera (as the young bloods usually did), but, the night being fine, had walked for some distance up Fifth Avenue before turning back in the direction of the Beauforts' house. He was definitely afraid that the Mingotts might be going too far; that, in fact, they might have Granny Mingott's orders to bring the Countess Olenska to the ball.

From the tone of the club box he had perceived how grave a mistake that would be; and, though he was more than ever determined to "see the thing through," he felt less chivalrously eager to champion his betrothed's cousin than before their brief talk at the Opera.

Wandering on to the bouton d'or drawing-room (where Beaufort had had the audacity to hang "Love Victorious," the much-discussed nude of Bouguereau) Archer found Mrs. Welland and her daughter standing near the ball-room door. Couples were already gliding over the floor beyond: the light of the wax candles fell on revolving tulle skirts, on girlish heads wreathed with modest blossoms, on the dashing aigrettes and ornaments of the young married women's coiffures, and on the glitter of highly glazed shirt-fronts and fresh glace gloves.

Miss Welland, evidently about to join the dancers, hung on the threshold, her lilies-of-the-valley in her hand (she carried no other bouquet), her face a little pale, her eyes burning with a candid excitement. A group of young men and girls were gathered about her, and there was much hand-clasping, laughing and pleasantry on which Mrs. Welland, standing slightly apart, shed the beam of a qualified approval. It was evident that Miss Welland was in the act of announcing her engagement, while her mother affected the air of parental reluctance considered suitable to the occasion.

Archer paused a moment. It was at his express wish that the announcement had been made, and yet it was not thus that he would have wished to have his happiness known. To proclaim it in the heat and noise of a crowded ball-room was to rob it of the fine bloom of privacy which should belong to things nearest the heart. His joy was so deep that this blurring of the surface left its essence untouched; but he would have liked to keep the surface pure too. It was something of a satisfaction to find that May Welland shared this feeling. Her eyes fled to his beseechingly, and their look said: "Remember, we're doing this because it's right."

No appeal could have found a more immediate response in Archer's breast; but he wished that the necessity of their action had been represented by some ideal reason, and not simply by poor Ellen Olenska. The group about Miss Welland made way for him with significant smiles, and after taking his share of the felicitations he drew his betrothed into the middle of the ball-room floor and put his arm about her waist.

"Now we shan't have to talk," he said, smiling into her candid eyes, as they floated away on the soft waves of the Blue Danube.

She made no answer. Her lips trembled into a smile, but the eyes remained distant and serious, as if bent on some ineffable vision. "Dear," Archer whispered, pressing her to him: it was borne in on him that the first hours of being engaged, even if spent in a ball-room, had in them something grave and sacramental. What a new life it was going to be, with this whiteness, radiance, goodness at one's side!

The dance over, the two, as became an affianced couple, wandered into the conservatory; and sitting behind a tall screen of tree-ferns and camellias Newland pressed her gloved hand to his lips.