“O, the pity of it! Such a dashing soldier—so popular—such an acquisition to the town—the soul of social life here! And now! …One should not speak ill of the dead, but that dreadful Mr. Sainway—it was too cruel of him!”
This is a summary of what was said when Captain, now the Reverend, John Maumbry was enabled by circumstances to indulge his heart's desire of returning to the scene of his former exploits in the capacity of a minister of the Gospel. A low-lying district of the town, which at that date was crowded with impoverished cottagers, was crying for a curate, and Mr. Maumbry generously offered himself as one willing to undertake labours that were certain to produce little result, and no thanks, credit, or emolument.
Let the truth be told about him as a clergyman; he proved to be anything but a brilliant success. Painstaking, single-minded, deeply in earnest as all could see, his delivery was laboured, his sermons were dull to listen to, and alas, too, too long. Even the dispassionate judges who sat by the hour in the bar-parlour of the White Hart—an inn standing at the dividing line between the poor quarter aforesaid and the fashionable quarter of Maumbry's former triumphs, and hence affording a position of strict impartiality—agreed in substance with the young ladies to the westward, though their views were somewhat more tersely expressed: “Surely, God A'mighty spwiled a good sojer to make a bad pa'son when He shifted Cap'n Ma'mbry into a sarpless!”
The latter knew that such things were said, but he pursued his daily labours in and out of the hovels with serene unconcern.
It was about this time that the invalid in the oriel became more than a mere bowing acquaintance of Mrs. Maumbry's. She had returned to the town with her husband, and was living with him in a little house in the centre of his circle of ministration, when by some means she became one of the invalid's visitors. After a general conversation while sitting in his room with a friend of both, an incident led up to the matter that still rankled deeply in her soul. Her face was now paler and thinner than it had been; even more attractive, her disappointments having inscribed themselves as meek thoughtfulness on a look that was once a little frivolous. The two ladies had called to be allowed to use the window for observing the departure of the Hussars, who were leaving for barracks much nearer to London.
The troopers turned the corner of Barrack Road into the top of High Street, headed by their band playing “The girl I left behind me” (which was formerly always the tune for such times, though it is now nearly disused). They came and passed the oriel, where an officer or two, looking up and discovering Mrs. Maumbry, saluted her, whose eyes filled with tears as the notes of the band waned away. Before the little group had recovered from that sense of the romantic which such spectacles impart, Mr. Maumbry came along the pavement. He probably had bidden his former brethren-in-arms a farewell at the top of the street, for he walked from that direction in his rather shabby clerical clothes, and with a basket on his arm which seemed to hold some purchases he had been making for his poorer parishioners. Unlike the soldiers he went along quite unconscious of his appearance or of the scene around.
The contrast was too much for Laura. With lips that now quivered,she asked the invalid what he thought of the change that had come to her.
It was difficult to answer, and with a wilfulness that was too strong in her she repeated the question.
“Do you think,” she added, “that a woman's husband has a right to do such a thing, even if he does feel a certain call to it?”
Her listener sympathized too largely with both of them to be anything but unsatisfactory in his reply. Laura gazed longingly out of the window towards the thin dusty line of Hussars, now smalling towards the Mellstock Ridge. “I,” she said, “who should have been in their van on the way to London, am doomed to fester in a hole in Durnover Lane!”
Many events had passed and many rumours had been current concerning her before the invalid saw her again after her leave-taking that day.
“唉,太可惜了!這么英俊瀟灑的一個(gè)軍人——這么受人追捧——簡直就是全鎮(zhèn)的驕傲——社交生活的靈魂人物?。〗Y(jié)果現(xiàn)在!……雖然不該說死人的壞話,但是都怪那個(gè)可惡的圣威先生——他這是造孽?。 ?/p>
當(dāng)蒙布里上尉,現(xiàn)在已經(jīng)是約翰·蒙布里牧師,得天時(shí)地利,如愿回到了原來建功立業(yè)的地方,成為一個(gè)傳福音的牧師時(shí),大家各種說長道短,總結(jié)起來不外如是。鎮(zhèn)上有一片低洼地區(qū),當(dāng)時(shí)密密麻麻地?cái)D滿了貧民窟居民,正急需一位副牧師,蒙布里便慷慨地主動(dòng)請(qǐng)纓,雖然明知自己的努力很可能徒勞無功,也不會(huì)有感謝、贊揚(yáng)或酬勞。
如果誠實(shí)地評(píng)價(jià)他作為一名傳教士的成就,那完全跟出色沾不上邊。大家都能看出他勤勉努力、專心致志、虔誠真摯,但是他的演講太過刻意,他的布道太過枯燥,而且,唉,太過冗長。就連那些此刻正坐在白鹿客棧的酒吧廳里——客棧就坐落在剛提到的貧民窟和之前蒙布里混得風(fēng)生水起的富人區(qū)的分界線上,因此從地理位置上來說也是嚴(yán)格的不偏不倚的——公正的看客判官也大體上贊同西城區(qū)那些年輕姑娘的觀點(diǎn),雖然他們表達(dá)得更加簡潔尖刻:“唉,上帝他老人家真是毀了個(gè)優(yōu)秀的軍人,造出來個(gè)糟糕的牧師,把蒙布里上尉弄得跟個(gè)木乃伊一樣干巴巴的!”
蒙布里知道別人怎么評(píng)論他,但他依然每天出入那些骯臟破敗的小屋,內(nèi)心平靜,毫不受影響。
飄窗后的病人就是在這個(gè)時(shí)候同蒙布里太太有了更深的交情。她同丈夫一起回到了鎮(zhèn)上,就住在他的轄區(qū)正中央的一所小房子里,通過某種渠道她成了這位病人的訪客。她與一位兩人共同的朋友正坐在他屋里聊天,外面發(fā)生的事又觸及了她心底的痛處。她的臉比原來蒼白消瘦了許多,失落使她的臉龐多了些柔和與若有所思,讓她那以前有些輕佻的臉現(xiàn)在顯得更迷人了。這兩位女士來訪是希望借飄窗一用,好目送驃騎兵團(tuán)拔營離開,他們要遷到離倫敦更近的軍營去了。
士兵們轉(zhuǎn)過軍營路拐角,踏上高街頂端,走在最前面的是領(lǐng)頭的樂隊(duì),正在演奏《我留下的姑娘》(從前但凡這種時(shí)刻就會(huì)奏這曲子,不過現(xiàn)在已經(jīng)棄用了)。他們漸漸走近,經(jīng)過飄窗,有一兩位軍官抬頭看到了蒙布里太太,向她行禮致意。她聽著樂聲逐漸遠(yuǎn)去,不禁熱淚盈眶。這三人還沒從剛才那壯觀場面帶來的浪漫氣氛中回過神來,就看見蒙布里先生沿著人行道走來。他大概已經(jīng)在街頭跟從前的戰(zhàn)友們道過別了,因?yàn)樗龔哪莻€(gè)方向過來。蒙布里先生穿著寒磣的教士長袍,胳膊上還挎著個(gè)籃子,里面裝的似乎是他為貧苦的教眾買的一些東西。跟那些騎兵完全不同,他對(duì)自己的外表或者周圍環(huán)境淡然置之。
對(duì)蘿拉來說這種反差實(shí)在是太強(qiáng)烈了。她嘴唇開始顫抖,問那位病人他怎么看待她的際遇變化。
這個(gè)問題對(duì)方很難回答,但她一時(shí)情緒激動(dòng),又任性地重復(fù)了一遍這個(gè)問題。
“你認(rèn)為,”她又補(bǔ)充說,“作為有家室的人,一個(gè)丈夫有權(quán)這樣做嗎,就算是他覺得自己受到了神召?”
她的傾聽者對(duì)她和她丈夫都抱著巨大的同情,因此沒法給出一個(gè)滿意的回答。蘿拉滿懷向往地望著窗外,騎兵們現(xiàn)在正朝著梅爾斯托克嶺的方向逐漸遠(yuǎn)去,變成了塵土飛揚(yáng)的一條細(xì)線。“我,”她說,“本來應(yīng)該坐在馬車?yán)锔麄円黄鹑惗氐?,結(jié)果卻注定要在鄧諾威巷的窟窿里頭腐爛化膿!”
從她那天離開到病人再見到她,這中間發(fā)生了許多事,有許多關(guān)于她的傳言。
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