CHAPTER LXIV
A Vagabond Chapter
We must pass over a part of Mrs. Rebecca Crawley's biography with that lightness and delicacy which the world demands--the moral world, that has, perhaps, no particular objection to vice, but an insuperable repugnance to hearing vice called by its proper name. There are things we do and know perfectly well in Vanity Fair, though we never speak of them: as the Ahrimanians worship the devil, but don't mention him: and a polite public will no more bear to read an authentic description of vice than a truly refined English or American female will permit the word breeches to be pronounced in her chaste hearing. And yet, madam, both are walking the world before our faces every day, without much shocking us. If you were to blush every time they went by, what complexions you would have! It is only when their naughty names are called out that your modesty has any occasion to show alarm or sense of outrage, and it has been the wish of the present writer, all through this story, deferentially to submit to the fashion at present prevailing, and only to hint at the existence of wickedness in a light, easy, and agreeable manner, so that nobody's fine feelings may be offended. I defy any one to say that our Becky, who has certainly some vices, has not been presented to the public in a perfectly genteel and inoffensive manner. In describing this Siren, singing and smiling, coaxing and cajoling, the author, with modest pride, asks his readers all round, has he once forgotten the laws of politeness, and showed the monster's hideous tail above water? No! Those who like may peep down under waves that are pretty transparent and see it writhing and twirling, diabolically hideous and slimy, flapping amongst bones, or curling round corpses; but above the waterline, I ask, has not everything been proper, agreeable, and decorous, and has any the most squeamish immoralist in Vanity Fair a right to cry fie? When, however, the Siren disappears and dives below, down among the dead men, the water of course grows turbid over her, and it is labour lost to look into it ever so curiously. They look pretty enough when they sit upon a rock, twanging their harps and combing their hair, and sing, and beckon to you to come and hold the looking-glass; but when they sink into their native element, depend on it, those mermaids are about no good, and we had best not examine the fiendish marine cannibals, revelling and feasting on their wretched pickled victims. And so, when Becky is out of the way, be sure that she is not particularly well employed, and that the less that is said about her doings is in fact the better.
If we were to give a full account of her proceedings during a couple of years that followed after the Curzon Street catastrophe, there might be some reason for people to say this book was improper. The actions of very vain, heartless, pleasure-seeking people are very often improper (as are many of yours, my friend with the grave face and spotless reputation--but that is merely by the way); and what are those of a woman without faith--or love--or character? And I am inclined to think that there was a period in Mrs Becky's life when she was seized, not by remorse, but by a kind of despair, and absolutely neglected her person and did not even care for her reputation.
This abattement and degradation did not take place all at once; it was brought about by degrees, after her calamity, and after many struggles to keep up--as a man who goes overboard hangs on to a spar whilst any hope is left, and then flings it away and goes down, when he finds that struggling is in vain.
She lingered about London whilst her husband was making preparations for his departure to his seat of government, and it is believed made more than one attempt to see her brother-in-law, Sir Pitt Crawley, and to work upon his feelings, which she had almost enlisted in her favour. As Sir Pitt and Mr. Wenham were walking down to the House of Commons, the latter spied Mrs. Rawdon in a black veil, and lurking near the palace of the legislature. She sneaked away when her eyes met those of Wenham, and indeed never succeeded in her designs upon the Baronet.
Probably Lady Jane interposed. I have heard that she quite astonished her husband by the spirit which she exhibited in this quarrel, and her determination to disown Mrs. Becky. Of her own movement, she invited Rawdon to come and stop in Gaunt Street until his departure for Coventry Island, knowing that with him for a guard Mrs. Becky would not try to force her door; and she looked curiously at the superscriptions of all the letters which arrived for Sir Pitt, lest he and his sister-in-law should be corresponding. Not but that Rebecca could have written had she a mind, but she did not try to see or to write to Pitt at his own house, and after one or two attempts consented to his demand that the correspondence regarding her conjugal differences should be carried on by lawyers only.
The fact was that Pitt's mind had been poisoned against her. A short time after Lord Steyne's accident Wenham had been with the Baronet and given him such a biography of Mrs. Becky as had astonished the member for Queen's Crawley. He knew everything regarding her: who her father was; in what year her mother danced at the opera; what had been her previous history; and what her conduct during her married life--as I have no doubt that the greater part of the story was false and dictated by interested malevolence, it shall not be repeated here. But Becky was left with a sad sad reputation in the esteem of a country gentleman and relative who had been once rather partial to her.
The revenues of the Governor of Coventry Island are not large. A part of them were set aside by his Excellency for the payment of certain outstanding debts and liabilities, the charges incident on his high situation required considerable expense; finally, it was found that he could not spare to his wife more than three hundred pounds a year, which he proposed to pay to her on an undertaking that she would never trouble him. Otherwise, scandal, separation, Doctors' Commons would ensue. But it was Mr. Wenham's business, Lord Steyne's business, Rawdon's, everybody's--to get her out of the country, and hush up a most disagreeable affair.
She was probably so much occupied in arranging these affairs of business with her husband's lawyers that she forgot to take any step whatever about her son, the little Rawdon, and did not even once propose to go and see him. That young gentleman was consigned to the entire guardianship of his aunt and uncle, the former of whom had always possessed a great share of the child's affection. His mamma wrote him a neat letter from Boulogne, when she quitted England, in which she requested him to mind his book, and said she was going to take a Continental tour, during which she would have the pleasure of writing to him again. But she never did for a year afterwards, and not, indeed, until Sir Pitt's only boy, always sickly, died of hooping-cough and measles--then Rawdon's mamma wrote the most affectionate composition to her darling son, who was made heir of Queen's Crawley by this accident, and drawn more closely than ever to the kind lady, whose tender heart had already adopted him. Rawdon Crawley, then grown a tall, fine lad, blushed when he got the letter. "Oh, Aunt Jane, you are my mother!" he said; "and not--and not that one." But he wrote back a kind and respectful letter to Mrs. Rebecca, then living at a boarding-house at Florence. But we are advancing matters.
Our darling Becky's first flight was not very far. She perched upon the French coast at Boulogne, that refuge of so much exiled English innocence, and there lived in rather a genteel, widowed manner, with a femme de chambre and a couple of rooms, at an hotel. She dined at the table d'hote, where people thought her very pleasant, and where she entertained her neighbours by stories of her brother, Sir Pitt, and her great London acquaintance, talking that easy, fashionable slip-slop which has so much effect upon certain folks of small breeding. She passed with many of them for a person of importance; she gave little tea-parties in her private room and shared in the innocent amusements of the place in sea-bathing, and in jaunts in open carriages, in strolls on the sands, and in visits to the play. Mrs. Burjoice, the printer's lady, who was boarding with her family at the hotel for the summer, and to whom her Burjoice came of a Saturday and Sunday, voted her charming, until that little rogue of a Burjoice began to pay her too much attention. But there was nothing in the story, only that Becky was always affable, easy, and good-natured--and with men especially.
Numbers of people were going abroad as usual at the end of the season, and Becky had plenty of opportunities of finding out by the behaviour of her acquaintances of the great London world the opinion of "society" as regarded her conduct. One day it was Lady Partlet and her daughters whom Becky confronted as she was walking modestly on Boulogne pier, the cliffs of Albion shining in the distance across the deep blue sea. Lady Partlet marshalled all her daughters round her with a sweep of her parasol and retreated from the pier, darting savage glances at poor little Becky who stood alone there.
On another day the packet came in. It had been blowing fresh, and it always suited Becky's humour to see the droll woe-begone faces of the people as they emerged from the boat. Lady Slingstone happened to be on board this day. Her ladyship had been exceedingly ill in her carriage, and was greatly exhausted and scarcely fit to walk up the plank from the ship to the pier. But all her energies rallied the instant she saw Becky smiling roguishly under a pink bonnet, and giving her a glance of scorn such as would have shrivelled up most women, she walked into the Custom House quite unsupported. Becky only laughed: but I don't think she liked it. She felt she was alone, quite alone, and the far-off shining cliffs of England were impassable to her.
The behaviour of the men had undergone too I don't know what change. Grinstone showed his teeth and laughed in her face with a familiarity that was not pleasant. Little Bob Suckling, who was cap in hand to her three months before, and would walk a mile in the rain to see for her carriage in the line at Gaunt House, was talking to Fitzoof of the Guards (Lord Heehaw's son) one day upon the jetty, as Becky took her walk there. Little Bobby nodded to her over his shoulder, without moving his hat, and continued his conversation with the heir of Heehaw. Tom Raikes tried to walk into her sitting- room at the inn with a cigar in his mouth, but she closed the door upon him, and would have locked it, only that his fingers were inside. She began to feel that she was very lonely indeed. "If HE'D been here," she said, "those cowards would never have dared to insult me." She thought about "him" with great sadness and perhaps longing--about his honest, stupid, constant kindness and fidelity; his never-ceasing obedience; his good humour; his bravery and courage. Very likely she cried, for she was particularly lively, and had put on a little extra rouge, when she came down to dinner.
She rouged regularly now; and--and her maid got Cognac for her besides that which was charged in the hotel bill.
Perhaps the insults of the men were not, however, so intolerable to her as the sympathy of certain women. Mrs. Crackenbury and Mrs. Washington White passed through Boulogne on their way to Switzerland. The party were protected by Colonel Horner, young Beaumoris, and of course old Crackenbury, and Mrs. White's little girl. THEY did not avoid her. They giggled, cackled, tattled, condoled, consoled, and patronized her until they drove her almost wild with rage. To be patronized by THEM! she thought, as they went away simpering after kissing her. And she heard Beaumoris's laugh ringing on the stair and knew quite well how to interpret his hilarity.
It was after this visit that Becky, who had paid her weekly bills, Becky who had made herself agreeable to everybody in the house, who smiled at the landlady, called the waiters "monsieur," and paid the chambermaids in politeness and apologies, what far more than compensated for a little niggardliness in point of money (of which Becky never was free), that Becky, we say, received a notice to quit from the landlord, who had been told by some one that she was quite an unfit person to have at his hotel, where English ladies would not sit down with her. And she was forced to fly into lodgings of which the dulness and solitude were most wearisome to her.
Still she held up, in spite of these rebuffs, and tried to make a character for herself and conquer scandal. She went to church very regularly and sang louder than anybody there. She took up the cause of the widows of the shipwrecked fishermen, and gave work and drawings for the Quashyboo Mission; she subscribed to the Assembly and WOULDN'T waltz. In a word, she did everything that was respectable, and that is why we dwell upon this part of her career with more fondness than upon subsequent parts of her history, which are not so pleasant. She saw people avoiding her, and still laboriously smiled upon them; you never could suppose from her countenance what pangs of humiliation she might be enduring inwardly.
Her history was after all a mystery. Parties were divided about her. Some people who took the trouble to busy themselves in the matter said that she was the criminal, whilst others vowed that she was as innocent as a lamb and that her odious husband was in fault. She won over a good many by bursting into tears about her boy and exhibiting the most frantic grief when his name was mentioned, or she saw anybody like him. She gained good Mrs. Alderney's heart in that way, who was rather the Queen of British Boulogne and gave the most dinners and balls of all the residents there, by weeping when Master Alderney came from Dr. Swishtail's academy to pass his holidays with his mother. "He and her Rawdon were of the same age, and so like," Becky said in a voice choking with agony; whereas there was five years' difference between the boys' ages, and no more likeness between them than between my respected reader and his humble servant. Wenham, when he was going abroad, on his way to Kissingen to join Lord Steyne, enlightened Mrs. Alderney on this point and told her how he was much more able to describe little Rawdon than his mamma, who notoriously hated him and never saw him; how he was thirteen years old, while little Alderney was but nine, fair, while the other darling was dark--in a word, caused the lady in question to repent of her good humour.
Whenever Becky made a little circle for herself with incredible toils and labour, somebody came and swept it down rudely, and she had all her work to begin over again. It was very hard; very hard; lonely and disheartening.
There was Mrs. Newbright, who took her up for some time, attracted by the sweetness of her singing at church and by her proper views upon serious subjects, concerning which in former days, at Queen's Crawley, Mrs. Becky had had a good deal of instruction. Well, she not only took tracts, but she read them. She worked flannel petticoats for the Quashyboos--cotton night-caps for the Cocoanut Indians--painted handscreens for the conversion of the Pope and the Jews--sat under Mr. Rowls on Wednesdays, Mr. Huggleton on Thursdays, attended two Sunday services at church, besides Mr. Bawler, the Darbyite, in the evening, and all in vain. Mrs. Newbright had occasion to correspond with the Countess of Southdown about the Warmingpan Fund for the Fiji Islanders (for the management of which admirable charity both these ladies formed part of a female committee), and having mentioned her "sweet friend," Mrs. Rawdon Crawley, the Dowager Countess wrote back such a letter regarding Becky, with such particulars, hints, facts, falsehoods, and general comminations, that intimacy between Mrs. Newbright and Mrs. Crawley ceased forthwith, and all the serious world of Tours, where this misfortune took place, immediately parted company with the reprobate. Those who know the English Colonies abroad know that we carry with us us our pride, pills, prejudices, Harvey-sauces, cayenne-peppers, and other Lares, making a little Britain wherever we settle down.
From one colony to another Becky fled uneasily. From Boulogne to Dieppe, from Dieppe to Caen, from Caen to Tours--trying with all her might to be respectable, and alas! always found out some day or other and pecked out of the cage by the real daws.
Mrs. Hook Eagles took her up at one of these places--a woman without a blemish in her character and a house in Portman Square. She was staying at the hotel at Dieppe, whither Becky fled, and they made each other's acquaintance first at sea, where they were swimming together, and subsequently at the table d'hote of the hotel. Mrs Eagles had heard--who indeed had not?--some of the scandal of the Steyne affair; but after a conversation with Becky, she pronounced that Mrs. Crawley was an angel, her husband a ruffian, Lord Steyne an unprincipled wretch, as everybody knew, and the whole case against Mrs. Crawley an infamous and wicked conspiracy of that rascal Wenham. "If you were a man of any spirit, Mr. Eagles, you would box the wretch's ears the next time you see him at the Club," she said to her husband. But Eagles was only a quiet old gentleman, husband to Mrs. Eagles, with a taste for geology, and not tall enough to reach anybody's ears.
The Eagles then patronized Mrs. Rawdon, took her to live with her at her own house at Paris, quarrelled with the ambassador's wife because she would not receive her protegee, and did all that lay in woman's power to keep Becky straight in the paths of virtue and good repute.
Becky was very respectable and orderly at first, but the life of humdrum virtue grew utterly tedious to her before long. It was the same routine every day, the same dulness and comfort, the same drive over the same stupid Bois de Boulogne, the same company of an evening, the same Blair's Sermon of a Sunday night--the same opera always being acted over and over again; Becky was dying of weariness, when, luckily for her, young Mr. Eagles came from Cambridge, and his mother, seeing the impression which her little friend made upon him, straightway gave Becky warning.
Then she tried keeping house with a female friend; then the double menage began to quarrel and get into debt. Then she determined upon a boarding-house existence and lived for some time at that famous mansion kept by Madame de Saint Amour, in the Rue Royale, at Paris, where she began exercising her graces and fascinations upon the shabby dandies and fly-blown beauties who frequented her landlady's salons. Becky loved society and, indeed, could no more exist without it than an opium-eater without his dram, and she was happy enough at the period of her boarding-house life. "The women here are as amusing as those in May Fair," she told an old London friend who met her, "only, their dresses are not quite so fresh. The men wear cleaned gloves, and are sad rogues, certainly, but they are not worse than Jack This and Tom That. The mistress of the house is a little vulgar, but I don't think she is so vulgar as Lady ------" and here she named the name of a great leader of fashion that I would die rather than reveal. In fact, when you saw Madame de Saint Amour's rooms lighted up of a night, men with plaques and cordons at the ecarte tables, and the women at a little distance, you might fancy yourself for a while in good society, and that Madame was a real Countess. Many people did so fancy, and Becky was for a while one of the most dashing ladies of the Countess's salons.
But it is probable that her old creditors of 1815 found her out and caused her to leave Paris, for the poor little woman was forced to fly from the city rather suddenly, and went thence to Brussels.
How well she remembered the place! She grinned as she looked up at the little entresol which she had occupied, and thought of the Bareacres family, bawling for horses and flight, as their carriage stood in the porte-cochere of the hotel. She went to Waterloo and to Laeken, where George Osborne's monument much struck her. She made a little sketch of it. "That poor Cupid!" she said; "how dreadfully he was in love with me, and what a fool he was! I wonder whether little Emmy is alive. It was a good little creature; and that fat brother of hers. I have his funny fat picture still among my papers. They were kind simple people."
At Brussels Becky arrived, recommended by Madame de Saint Amour to her friend, Madame la Comtesse de Borodino, widow of Napoleon's General, the famous Count de Borodino, who was left with no resource by the deceased hero but that of a table d'hote and an ecarte table. Second-rate dandies and roues, widow-ladies who always have a lawsuit, and very simple English folks, who fancy they see "Continental society" at these houses, put down their money, or ate their meals, at Madame de Borodino's tables. The gallant young fellows treated the company round to champagne at the table d'hote, rode out with the women, or hired horses on country excursions, clubbed money to take boxes at the play or the opera, betted over the fair shoulders of the ladies at the ecarte tables, and wrote home to their parents in Devonshire about their felicitous introduction to foreign society.
Here, as at Paris, Becky was a boarding-house queen, and ruled in select pensions. She never refused the champagne, or the bouquets, or the drives into the country, or the private boxes; but what she preferred was the ecarte at night,--and she played audaciously. First she played only for a little, then for five-franc pieces, then for Napoleons, then for notes: then she would not be able to pay her month's pension: then she borrowed from the young gentlemen: then she got into cash again and bullied Madame de Borodino, whom she had coaxed and wheedled before: then she was playing for ten sous at a time, and in a dire state of poverty: then her quarter's allowance would come in, and she would pay off Madame de Borodino's score and would once more take the cards against Monsieur de Rossignol, or the Chevalier de Raff.
When Becky left Brussels, the sad truth is that she owed three months' pension to Madame de Borodino, of which fact, and of the gambling, and of the drinking, and of the going down on her knees to the Reverend Mr. Muff, Ministre Anglican, and borrowing money of him, and of her coaxing and flirting with Milor Noodle, son of Sir Noodle, pupil of the Rev. Mr. Muff, whom she used to take into her private room, and of whom she won large sums at ecarte--of which fact, I say, and of a hundred of her other knaveries, the Countess de Borodino informs every English person who stops at her establishment, and announces that Madame Rawdon was no better than a vipere.
So our little wanderer went about setting up her tent in various cities of Europe, as restless as Ulysses or Bampfylde Moore Carew. Her taste for disrespectability grew more and more remarkable. She became a perfect Bohemian ere long, herding with people whom it would make your hair stand on end to meet.
There is no town of any mark in Europe but it has its little colony of English raffs--men whose names Mr. Hemp the officer reads out periodically at the Sheriffs' Court--young gentlemen of very good family often, only that the latter disowns them; frequenters of billiard-rooms and estaminets, patrons of foreign races and gaming- tables. They people the debtors' prisons--they drink and swagger-- they fight and brawl--they run away without paying--they have duels with French and German officers--they cheat Mr. Spooney at ecarte-- they get the money and drive off to Baden in magnificent britzkas-- they try their infallible martingale and lurk about the tables with empty pockets, shabby bullies, penniless bucks, until they can swindle a Jew banker with a sham bill of exchange, or find another Mr. Spooney to rob. The alternations of splendour and misery which these people undergo are very queer to view. Their life must be one of great excitement. Becky--must it be owned?--took to this life, and took to it not unkindly. She went about from town to town among these Bohemians. The lucky Mrs. Rawdon was known at every play- table in Germany. She and Madame de Cruchecassee kept house at Florence together. It is said she was ordered out of Munich, and my friend Mr. Frederick Pigeon avers that it was at her house at Lausanne that he was hocussed at supper and lost eight hundred pounds to Major Loder and the Honourable Mr. Deuceace. We are bound, you see, to give some account of Becky's biography, but of this part, the less, perhaps, that is said the better.
They say that, when Mrs. Crawley was particularly down on her luck, she gave concerts and lessons in music here and there. There was a Madame de Raudon, who certainly had a matinee musicale at Wildbad, accompanied by Herr Spoff, premier pianist to the Hospodar of Wallachia, and my little friend Mr. Eaves, who knew everybody and had travelled everywhere, always used to declare that he was at Strasburg in the year 1830, when a certain Madame Rebecque made her appearance in the opera of the Dame Blanche, giving occasion to a furious row in the theatre there. She was hissed off the stage by the audience, partly from her own incompetency, but chiefly from the ill-advised sympathy of some persons in the parquet, (where the officers of the garrison had their admissions); and Eaves was certain that the unfortunate debutante in question was no other than Mrs. Rawdon Crawley.
She was, in fact, no better than a vagabond upon this earth. When she got her money she gambled; when she had gambled it she was put to shifts to live; who knows how or by what means she succeeded? It is said that she was once seen at St. Petersburg, but was summarily dismissed from that capital by the police, so that there cannot be any possibility of truth in the report that she was a Russian spy at Toplitz and Vienna afterwards. I have even been informed that at Paris she discovered a relation of her own, no less a person than her maternal grandmother, who was not by any means a Montmorenci, but a hideous old box-opener at a theatre on the Boulevards. The meeting between them, of which other persons, as it is hinted elsewhere, seem to have been acquainted, must have been a very affecting interview. The present historian can give no certain details regarding the event.
It happened at Rome once that Mrs. de Rawdon's half-year's salary had just been paid into the principal banker's there, and, as everybody who had a balance of above five hundred scudi was invited to the balls which this prince of merchants gave during the winter, Becky had the honour of a card, and appeared at one of the Prince and Princess Polonia's splendid evening entertainments. The Princess was of the family of Pompili, lineally descended from the second king of Rome, and Egeria of the house of Olympus, while the Prince's grandfather, Alessandro Polonia, sold wash-balls, essences, tobacco, and pocket-handkerchiefs, ran errands for gentlemen, and lent money in a small way. All the great company in Rome thronged to his saloons--Princes, Dukes, Ambassadors, artists, fiddlers, monsignori, young bears with their leaders--every rank and condition of man. His halls blazed with light and magnificence; were resplendent with gilt frames (containing pictures), and dubious antiques; and the enormous gilt crown and arms of the princely owner, a gold mushroom on a crimson field (the colour of the pocket-handkerchiefs which he sold), and the silver fountain of the Pompili family shone all over the roof, doors, and panels of the house, and over the grand velvet baldaquins prepared to receive Popes and Emperors.
So Becky, who had arrived in the diligence from Florence, and was lodged at an inn in a very modest way, got a card for Prince Polonia's entertainment, and her maid dressed her with unusual care, and she went to this fine ball leaning on the arm of Major Loder, with whom she happened to be travelling at the time--(the same man who shot Prince Ravoli at Naples the next year, and was caned by Sir John Buckskin for carrying four kings in his hat besides those which he used in playing at ecarte )--and this pair went into the rooms together, and Becky saw a number of old faces which she remembered in happier days, when she was not innocent, but not found out. Major Loder knew a great number of foreigners, keen-looking whiskered men with dirty striped ribbons in their buttonholes, and a very small display of linen; but his own countrymen, it might be remarked, eschewed the Major. Becky, too, knew some ladies here and there--French widows, dubious Italian countesses, whose husbands had treated them ill--faugh--what shall we say, we who have moved among some of the finest company of Vanity Fair, of this refuse and sediment of rascals? If we play, let it be with clean cards, and not with this dirty pack. But every man who has formed one of the innumerable army of travellers has seen these marauding irregulars hanging on, like Nym and Pistol, to the main force, wearing the king's colours and boasting of his commission, but pillaging for themselves, and occasionally gibbeted by the roadside.
Well, she was hanging on the arm of Major Loder, and they went through the rooms together, and drank a great quantity of champagne at the buffet, where the people, and especially the Major's irregular corps, struggled furiously for refreshments, of which when the pair had had enough, they pushed on until they reached the Duchess's own pink velvet saloon, at the end of the suite of apartments (where the statue of the Venus is, and the great Venice looking-glasses, framed in silver), and where the princely family were entertaining their most distinguished guests at a round table at supper. It was just such a little select banquet as that of which Becky recollected that she had partaken at Lord Steyne's--and there he sat at Polonia's table, and she saw him. The scar cut by the diamond on his white, bald, shining forehead made a burning red mark; his red whiskers were dyed of a purple hue, which made his pale face look still paler. He wore his collar and orders, his blue ribbon and garter. He was a greater Prince than any there, though there was a reigning Duke and a Royal Highness, with their princesses, and near his Lordship was seated the beautiful Countess of Belladonna, nee de Glandier, whose husband (the Count Paolo della Belladonna), so well known for his brilliant entomological collections, had been long absent on a mission to the Emperor of Morocco.
When Becky beheld that familiar and illustrious face, how vulgar all of a sudden did Major Loder appear to her, and how that odious Captain Rook did smell of tobacco! In one instant she reassumed her fine-ladyship and tried to look and feel as if she were in May Fair once more. "That woman looks stupid and ill-humoured," she thought; "I am sure she can't amuse him. No, he must be bored by her--he never was by me." A hundred such touching hopes, fears, and memories palpitated in her little heart, as she looked with her brightest eyes (the rouge which she wore up to her eyelids made them twinkle) towards the great nobleman. Of a Star and Garter night Lord Steyne used also to put on his grandest manner and to look and speak like a great prince, as he was. Becky admired him smiling sumptuously, easy, lofty, and stately. Ah, bon Dieu, what a pleasant companion he was, what a brilliant wit, what a rich fund of talk, what a grand manner!--and she had exchanged this for Major Loder, reeking of cigars and brandy-and-water, and Captain Rook with his horsejockey jokes and prize-ring slang, and their like. "I wonder whether he will know me," she thought. Lord Steyne was talking and laughing with a great and illustrious lady at his side, when he looked up and saw Becky.
She was all over in a flutter as their eyes met, and she put on the very best smile she could muster, and dropped him a little, timid, imploring curtsey. He stared aghast at her for a minute, as Macbeth might on beholding Banquo's sudden appearance at his ball-supper, and remained looking at her with open mouth, when that horrid Major Loder pulled her away.
"Come away into the supper-room, Mrs. R.," was that gentleman's remark: "seeing these nobs grubbing away has made me peckish too. Let's go and try the old governor's champagne." Becky thought the Major had had a great deal too much already.
The day after she went to walk on the Pincian Hill--the Hyde Park of the Roman idlers--possibly in hopes to have another sight of Lord Steyne. But she met another acquaintance there: it was Mr. Fiche, his lordship's confidential man, who came up nodding to her rather familiarly and putting a finger to his hat. "I knew that Madame was here," he said; "I followed her from her hotel. I have some advice to give Madame."
"From the Marquis of Steyne?" Becky asked, resuming as much of her dignity as she could muster, and not a little agitated by hope and expectation.
"No," said the valet; "it is from me. Rome is very unwholesome."
"Not at this season, Monsieur Fiche--not till after Easter."
"I tell Madame it is unwholesome now. There is always malaria for some people. That cursed marsh wind kills many at all seasons. Look, Madame Crawley, you were always bon enfant, and I have an interest in you, parole d'honneur. Be warned. Go away from Rome, I tell you--or you will be ill and die."
Becky laughed, though in rage and fury. "What! assassinate poor little me?" she said. "How romantic! Does my lord carry bravos for couriers, and stilettos in the fourgons? Bah! I will stay, if but to plague him. I have those who will defend me whilst I am here."
It was Monsieur Fiche's turn to laugh now. "Defend you," he said, "and who? The Major, the Captain, any one of those gambling men whom Madame sees would take her life for a hundred louis. We know things about Major Loder (he is no more a Major than I am my Lord the Marquis) which would send him to the galleys or worse. We know everything and have friends everywhere. We know whom you saw at Paris, and what relations you found there. Yes, Madame may stare, but we do. How was it that no minister on the Continent would receive Madame? She has offended somebody: who never forgives-- whose rage redoubled when he saw you. He was like a madman last night when he came home. Madame de Belladonna made him a scene about you and fired off in one of her furies."
"Oh, it was Madame de Belladonna, was it?" Becky said, relieved a little, for the information she had just got had scared her.
"No--she does not matter--she is always jealous. I tell you it was Monseigneur. You did wrong to show yourself to him. And if you stay here you will repent it. Mark my words. Go. Here is my lord's carriage"--and seizing Becky's arm, he rushed down an alley of the garden as Lord Steyne's barouche, blazing with heraldic devices, came whirling along the avenue, borne by the almost priceless horses, and bearing Madame de Belladonna lolling on the cushions, dark, sulky, and blooming, a King Charles in her lap, a white parasol swaying over her head, and old Steyne stretched at her side with a livid face and ghastly eyes. Hate, or anger, or desire caused them to brighten now and then still, but ordinarily, they gave no light, and seemed tired of looking out on a world of which almost all the pleasure and all the best beauty had palled upon the worn-out wicked old man.
"Monseigneur has never recovered the shock of that night, never," Monsieur Fiche whispered to Mrs. Crawley as the carriage flashed by, and she peeped out at it from behind the shrubs that hid her. "That was a consolation at any rate," Becky thought.
Whether my lord really had murderous intentions towards Mrs. Becky as Monsieur Fiche said (since Monseigneur's death he has returned to his native country, where he lives much respected, and has purchased from his Prince the title of Baron Ficci), and the factotum objected to have to do with assassination; or whether he simply had a commission to frighten Mrs. Crawley out of a city where his Lordship proposed to pass the winter, and the sight of her would be eminently disagreeable to the great nobleman, is a point which has never been ascertained: but the threat had its effect upon the little woman, and she sought no more to intrude herself upon the presence of her old patron.
Everybody knows the melancholy end of that nobleman, which befell at Naples two months after the French Revolution of 1830; when the Most Honourable George Gustavus, Marquis of Steyne, Earl of Gaunt and of Gaunt Castle, in the Peerage of Ireland, Viscount Hellborough, Baron Pitchley and Grillsby, a Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Garter, of the Golden Fleece of Spain, of the Russian Order of Saint Nicholas of the First Class, of the Turkish Order of the Crescent, First Lord of the Powder Closet and Groom of the Back Stairs, Colonel of the Gaunt or Regent's Own Regiment of Militia, a Trustee of the British Museum, an Elder Brother of the Trinity House, a Governor of the White Friars, and D.C.L.--died after a series of fits brought on, as the papers said, by the shock occasioned to his lordship's sensibilities by the downfall of the ancient French monarchy.
An eloquent catalogue appeared in a weekly print, describing his virtues, his magnificence, his talents, and his good actions. His sensibility, his attachment to the illustrious House of Bourbon, with which he claimed an alliance, were such that he could not survive the misfortunes of his august kinsmen. His body was buried at Naples, and his heart--that heart which always beat with every generous and noble emotion was brought back to Castle Gaunt in a silver urn. "In him," Mr. Wagg said, "the poor and the Fine Arts have lost a beneficent patron, society one of its most brilliant ornaments, and England one of her loftiest patriots and statesmen," &c., &c.
His will was a good deal disputed, and an attempt was made to force from Madame de Belladonna the celebrated jewel called the "Jew's- eye" diamond, which his lordship always wore on his forefinger, and which it was said that she removed from it after his lamented demise. But his confidential friend and attendant, Monsieur Fiche proved that the ring had been presented to the said Madame de Belladonna two days before the Marquis's death, as were the bank- notes, jewels, Neapolitan and French bonds, &c., found in his lordship's secretaire and claimed by his heirs from that injured woman.
第 六 十 四 章 流 浪 生 活
为迁就一般人的意见,我只好把利蓓加.克劳莱太太传记中的一部份轻描淡写一笔带过.道学先生们对于不道德的行为或许能够容忍,可是倘若听得别人直言不讳的议论它,心上总有压不下的嫌恶.在名利场上,有好些事情大家都做,大家都知道,只是口里不说,仿佛波斯教里的阿里马派崇拜魔鬼,却从来不是他的名字.有教养的读者们看到真实可靠的记载,描写堕落的行为,便觉得受不了,等于在英国和美国,高雅的太太小姐们不许人家当她们的面提起"裤子"两字一般.其实呢,太太,咱们天天看见堕落的行为,天天看见裤子,心里一点儿不难受.假如你一看见它们就脸红,你的脸色还像什么样子呢?只有在它们下流的名字给人提起的时候,才需要你表示害怕或是忿怒.本书的作者对于时下的风气十分尊敬,自始至终不敢触犯,只准备以轻松.愉快.随随便便的笔调来描写罪恶,这样,我就不至于冒犯读者们高洁的感情了.我们的蓓基当然有许多品行不端的地方,可是她跟大家见面的时候,总是十分文雅得体的,在这一点上,谁也不能说我不对.我描写这个海上的女妖(根据希腊神话,西西利附近某海岛上有三个善唱的女妖,专以歌声迷惑航海的人,他们听了便会忘怀一切,直到饿死为止.),只说她会唱会笑,会花言巧语的哄人,从来没有失去体统,没有让妖怪把她丑恶的尾巴浮到水面上来,我想所有的读者不得不承认这一点.对于我的手法我倒真是有点儿得意,因为我从来没有犯过这样的错误.好奇的人尽不妨向透明的水波底下张望,瞧着那粘糊糊.奇丑不堪的尾巴扭曲旋转,一会儿扑打着成堆的骸骨,一会儿在死尸身上盘旋.可是在水面以上,一切都很正当,很规矩,叫人瞧着觉得愉快,连名利场上最难说话的道学先生也不能抱怨.这些妖怪钻到水底,在死人堆里游来游去,上面的水当然给她们搅得泥污混浊,你即使要想寻根究底,也看不见底下的情形.她们坐在岩石上,弹着五弦琴,梳着头发,唱着歌儿,招手儿叫你去替她们举着镜子......那时候她们当然美丽得很,可是一到了水底里能够随心所欲的境界里,保管这些人鱼姑娘就不干好事.这些海底的吃人的恶鬼怎么大吃大乐,享受盐渍的死尸,我们还是不看吧!以此类推,蓓基不在我们眼前的时候,准在干坏事,这些事我们也是少说为妙.
如果我把她在克生街事件发生以后一两年里面的经过细细记载下来,大家准会批评我的书不成体统.凡是爱虚荣.贪享受.没心肝的人,作出来的事多半下流.(我在这里插一句,你们这些板着正经脸儿.外面德高望重的人背地里不也常干下流事吗?)一个没有信仰.没有人格.心如铁石的女人,她的行为当然更不成话.我想,有一段时期,蓓基太太觉得灰心绝望(倒并不是说她追悔从前的过错),对于自己一身完全不加爱惜,甚至于声名清白不清白也不在乎.
她并不是一下子就堕落到这步田地的.祸事发生以后她几次三番挣扎着想保持本来的体面,可是结果却是逐渐的走下坡路,仿佛落水的人起初还有些希望,拉住桅杆不放,后来发觉挣扎并没有用处,索性放开手沉到水底下去了.
当初在伦敦,她丈夫忙着准备上任,她也逗留着不走.看来她曾经好几次变着法子想和大伯毕脱.克劳莱爵士见面,因为她本来已经差不多使他同情自己,再用计策打动他的心就能成功.有一回毕脱爵士和威纳姆先生一同走到国会去,威纳姆看见罗登太太戴着黑颜色的面网,躲躲藏藏的站在立法院前面.她和威纳姆面对面看了一眼,悄悄的溜掉了,从此也没有能够利用毕脱爵士.
大概吉恩夫人也曾经出来干涉过.我听说在那一场争吵发生的时候,她非常强硬,而且坚决和蓓基太太断绝关系,倒是她丈夫没有料到的.她自作主张,在罗登到考文脱莱岛去上任之前把他请到岗脱街来住.她知道有了罗登做保镖,蓓基太太决不敢硬闯进她的家里来.她又怕小婶子私底下和她丈夫通信,把寄给毕脱爵士的信件细细检查,看有没有眼生的字迹.利蓓加倘若有心和大伯通信,当然仍旧有办法,不过她并不打算到毕脱爵士宅子里去见他,写了信也不往他家里寄.她写过一两次信之后,毕脱提议说一切关于他们夫妇间的纠葛,最好由律师传达双方的意见,她也只得答应.
原来毕脱也听信了别人对她的谗言.斯丹恩勋爵的那件事发生之后不久,威纳姆来见过从男爵.他把蓓基太太的身世淋漓尽致的叙述了一番,使女王的克劳莱选区的代表大吃一惊.关于她的身世,威纳姆什么都知道:她的父亲是什么人,她的母亲在哪一年在歌剧院当舞女,她从前干过什么事,她在结婚以后的行为怎样.我知道这些话大半是和她厉害不同的人恶意中伤,编出来的谎话,这里不必再说.这样,她的大伯,这位乡下绅士,本来那么偏心向着她的,现在也对她完全不相信了.
考文脱莱的总督收入不算多.他大人留出一部分薪水,把最要紧的债务还清.他的地位重要,有许多花费是免不了的,所以结算下来,一年只能省给太太三百镑.他提出一个条件,要利蓓加从此不去麻烦他,才答应把这笔津贴给她;如果她还要捣乱,就把那不体面的事闹穿,正式和她打官司,离婚.底子里,威纳姆先生的责任就是把她送到外国去,使这件不愉快的事情平息下来.斯丹恩侯爵.罗登和所有别的人,都想打发她上路.
大概她忙着和丈夫的律师们谈判这些事情,忘了应该怎样处置小罗登.她甚至于没有去看过儿子.这孩子完全由大伯和大娘照管,反正他和大娘的感情本来是很好的.他的妈妈离开英国之后,在波罗涅写了一封措辞简洁的信给他,叫他好好读书,并且说她自己准备上欧洲游览,将来再写信给他.从那时起她一年没有动笔,直到毕脱爵士的独生子死掉以后才写第二封信.那孩子本来身体单弱,后来生百日咳和出痧子死了,这样一来,罗登就成了女王的克劳莱的承继人.慈爱的大娘本来把他像自己的孩子一样疼爱,从此两人的感情更深了一层.这时罗登的妈妈便又给她宝贝的儿子写了一封怪亲热的信.罗登.克劳莱已经长成一个高大强壮的大孩子.他收到了信,脸红起来,说:"吉恩大娘,你才是我妈妈,不是......不是那个人."话是这么说,他仍旧恭恭敬敬的写了一封回信给利蓓加.当时利蓓加住在翡冷翠一家寄宿舍里......不过这些都是后话.
亲爱的蓓基最初离开本国的时候走得并不远.她先在法国沿海的波罗涅住下来.当地住着好些清白无辜的英国人,都是因为在本国不能安身,才到这里来的.她在旅馆里租了两间房,雇了一个女佣人,仿佛是个守寡的上等女人.她跟着大家吃普通客饭,很能得同桌人的欢心.她对邻居谈起她的大伯毕脱爵士和伦敦的了不起的朋友们.这种时髦场中的无聊琐碎,最能叫那些不见世面的人觉得神往.听了她的话,好多人都以为她是个有地位的人物.她请人家在自己屋里吃吃茶点;当她的正当娱乐,像游泳.坐马车兜风.散步.看戏,她也参加.有一个印刷商人的妻子叫白乔斯太太的,带着一家在当地过夏,星期六星期日,她丈夫白乔斯也在那里歇.白乔斯太太觉得利蓓加很讨人喜欢.那知道后来混帐的白乔斯对她不断的献殷勤,白乔斯太太才改了主意.这件事其实没有什么大不了,蓓基对人向来周到,随和,近人情......对于男人尤其亲热.
伦敦的热闹季节一过,通常总有许多人从英国到此地来.因此蓓基有不少机会和从前那些了不起的伦敦朋友见面,从他们的行为推测"上流社会"对她的态度.有一天,蓓基在波罗涅的码头上很端庄的散步,隔着又深又蓝的海水,英国的岩石在对岸映着日光发亮.在这儿她碰见派脱莱脱夫人和她的一群女儿.派脱莱脱夫人举起阳伞刷的一挥,把女儿们都聚在身边,转过身来离开码头就走,一面恶狠狠的向蓓基钉了几眼.可怜的小蓓基只好独自一个人站在那里.
又有一天,一艘邮船从英国开过来.那天风浪很大,蓓基向来爱看乘客们从船上出来的时候那狼狈滑稽的样子.这一回,恰巧斯林斯登夫人在船上.她一路上躺在自己马车里晕船晕得精疲力尽,从跳板走到岸上都觉得很勉强.忽然她一眼看见蓓基戴着粉红帽子,一脸淘气的样子笑嘻嘻的站在那里,浑身的力气登时来了,竟然不用人搀扶,独自一个走到海关里去,一面对蓓基满脸不屑的瞪了一眼.这种眼色,普通的女人是受不住的,蓓基只笑了一笑,不过我想她心里一定也不高兴.她觉得自己无倚无靠,一个亲人也没有.要走过在远处发亮的岩石回到英国,在她是不可能的了.
男人们的态度也和以前大不相同.葛兰斯登对她笑得呲牙咧嘴,那亲狎的样子看了叫人心里嫌恶.包勃.色克林那小子三个月以前见了她就恭恭敬敬脱下帽子,她在岗脱大厦作客回家的时候,他常常给她当差,在屋子前面排列着的马车里面把她的车子找来,要他在雨里跑上整整一里路也愿意.有一天蓓基在码头上散步,看见包勃正在和希霍勋爵的儿子,禁卫军里的非卓夫谈话.这回他不脱帽子了,只扭过脖子来跟她点了一点头,管自和希霍的嗣子谈话.汤姆.莱克斯口里衔着雪茄烟,要想闯到她旅馆里的起坐间里来,给她关在门外.若不是他的手指夹在门缝里,她一定当时就把门锁上.到这时候她才觉得自己真正是孤单无靠.她想:"如果他在这儿,这些没有胆子的人决不敢欺负我."她想到"他",心里非常难受,说不定还觉得牵挂.他又傻又老实,对蓓基一味忠诚体贴,依头顺脑,而且脾气又好,又有勇气,有肝胆.那天蓓基说不定还哭了一场,因为下楼吃饭的时候她比平常更加活泼,脸上还多搽了一层胭脂.
现在她天天搽胭脂,而且......而且除了旅馆账单上开着的哥涅克酒以外,她的女佣人还在外边替她另外打酒来喝.
男人们的侮辱虽然难受,恐怕还不如有些女人的同情那么刺心.克拉根白莱太太和华盛顿.霍爱脱太太到瑞士去,路过波罗涅.同去的有霍纳上校,年轻的包莫里,当然还有克拉根白莱老头儿和霍爱脱太太的小女儿.这两个女人见了她并不躲避.她们笑呀,讲呀,咭咭呱呱,说东话西,一会儿同情她,一会儿安慰她,倚老卖老的,真把她气疯了.她们吻了她,才装腔作势的嘻嘻笑着走掉了.她想:"她们也来对我卖老!"她听见包莫里的笑声从楼梯上传下来,很明白笑声里面含的是什么意思.
蓓基住在旅馆里每星期付账,对每个人都殷勤和气,向旅馆老板娘微笑,管茶房叫"先生",对女佣人们说话客气,使唤她们做事的时候常常赔个不是,这样,虽然她花钱小气(她向来撒不开手),也就对付得过了.哪知自从这群人来过之后,旅馆主人便来赶她动身.有人告诉他说旅馆里不能收留她这样的人,因为英国的上等女人决不愿意和她同桌子吃饭.这样,她只得自己去租公寓住.那儿的生活单调寂寞,把她憋得难受.
她虽然到处碰壁,仍旧不屈服,努力替自己树立好名声,把别人说她的坏话压下去.她经常上教堂,赞美诗比谁都唱得响亮.她为淹死的渔夫的家眷办福利.她做了手工,画了图画,捐给扩喜布传教团.她捐钱给教会,而且坚决不跳华尔兹舞.总之,她尽量做个规矩的上等女人.为这个原因我很愿意多说一些她当时的生活情形.后来的事情说来不怎么愉快,我也不喜欢多讲.她明明看见别人躲着不愿意睬她,仍旧努力对他们微笑着打招呼.她心里的委屈烦恼,在脸上是一点儿也看不出来的.
她从前的历史究竟是个猜不透的奥妙.一般人对于她的意见也各有不同.有些人爱管闲事,把过去的事情研究了一下,说是过错都在她.有些人赌神罚誓说她像羔羊一般纯洁,都是她混帐的丈夫不好.她往往说起儿子就失声哭泣,听见他的名字或是看见和他长得相像的孩子,就伤心得发狂一般.她用这个方法赢得了好多人的同情.当地有一位好心的亚尔德内太太,仿佛是波罗涅地方英国居民中的王后,请客和开跳舞会的次数比别的人多.蓓基看见她的儿子亚尔德内少爷从斯威希退尔博士的学校里回来过暑假,痛哭起来,这样一来,亚尔德内太太的心就向着她了.蓓基悲悲切切呜呜咽咽的说道:"他和我的罗登同年,长得真像."其实两个孩子相差五岁,相貌完全不同,等于敬爱的读者和写书的人那么不像.威纳姆从基新根去找斯丹恩侯爵,经过波罗涅,就把这事对亚尔德内太太解释明白了.他说小罗登的相貌,他比孩子的妈妈知道的还清楚.因为大家都知道他妈妈非常恨他,从来不去看他.他今年十三岁了,亚尔德内少爷才九岁;他是白皮肤,而那一个小宝贝皮肤黑得多.总而言之,威纳姆的一席话使亚尔德内太太懊悔自己不该对蓓基那么客气.
蓓基交朋友用掉的精神力气说出来叫人不相信.好容易交着了几个,总有人走来很粗暴的把她的成绩一扫而光,她只好再从头做起.这种生活非常非常艰苦,使她觉得寂寞和灰心.
还有一个纽白拉依脱太太,在教堂里听得她甜美的歌声,而且见她对于宗教方面的见解也很准确,十分赞赏她,也跟她来往了一阵子.关于宗教,蓓基太太在女王的克劳莱得到的教诲就不少.她不但肯接受传教小册子,而且把它们都读过.她给扩喜布地方的土人做绒布裙子,给西印度岛上的土人做棉布睡帽.她画了小画屏,为的是劝教皇和犹太人归于正教.她每星期三听罗尔丝牧师讲道,每星期四听赫格尔登牧师讲道,每逢星期日上教堂两回,晚上还听达别派(１８３０年在泼立默斯所创的新教派.)的包勒先生讲道.可是这一切都没有效力.纽白拉依脱太太为非奇岛的土著募捐暖壶基金的事和莎吴塞唐老伯爵夫人通了一封信......关于这件慈善事业,另外有委员会,这两位太太都是委员.她在信上提起她的"可爱的朋友"罗登.克劳莱太太,老夫人细细的回了一封信,里面有事实,有谎话,有藏头露尾的叙述,还预言她将来必遭天罚.从此纽白拉依脱太太和克劳莱太太的交情便断绝了.这件倒楣事是在多尔斯发生的,这以后当地宗教界的人士也和这罪孽深重的人从此不相往来.凡是熟悉英国国外殖民地的人,都知道我们不论走到哪里,都把本国的骄傲.偏见.丸药.哈威沙司.胡椒,和各种家乡的习惯带着一起去,仿佛在那个地方制造出一个小英国来.
蓓基担惊受怕的从一个地方逃到另一个地方.从波罗涅到地埃泊,从地埃泊到开恩,从开恩到多尔斯,尽她所能做个规矩的女人.真可叹!到后来人家总能探出她的底细,这骗子又给真的乌鸦们啄出笼子去了.
在一处地方,有一个虎克.伊格尔思太太很照顾她.伊格尔思太太是个品德高超的女人,在扑德门广场有一所房子.蓓基逃到地埃泊的时候,她正在当地一个旅馆里住.她们两人第一次是在海里见面的,因为两个人都在游泳,后来又在一桌吃客饭,便认识了.伊格尔思太太曾经听见过斯丹恩事件......这件事谁没听说过呢?......可是和蓓基谈了一席话之后,就和人说克劳莱太太是个天使,她的丈夫是个混蛋,斯丹恩勋爵呢,大家都知道他是个没有道德的坏人,这件事情,全是威纳姆那流氓使出毒辣的手段陷害克劳莱太太的.她对丈夫说:"伊格尔思先生,如果你是个有血性的人,下一回你在俱乐部碰见那混帐东西的时候就该打他两下耳刮子."不幸伊格尔思不过是个安静的老先生,只能做做伊格尔思太太的丈夫.他喜欢研究地质,长得很矮,够不上打人家的耳刮子.
这样,伊格尔思太太便做了罗登太太的保护人,把她带到巴黎她自己的房子里去住.她和英国大使的太太还吵了一架,因为大使夫人不肯接待蓓基.她努力使蓓基做个品行端正声名清白的人,凡是一个女人所能尽的力量她都尽了.
起先蓓基过得很规矩很谨严,可是这么沉闷的道学生活不久便把她憋得难受.天天是照例公事,过那样舒服而没有变化的日子.白天老是坐了车子到波罗涅树林子去兜风,真无聊!晚上老是看见那几个脸熟的客人,星期天晚上老是读白莱厄的训戒,仿佛是把一出歌剧翻来覆去演个不完.蓓基气闷得要死,总算她运气好,年轻的伊格尔思从剑桥回来了.母亲看见儿子对自己的小朋友那么动心,立刻打发蓓基上路.
她和一个女朋友同住,两个人不久就吵起架来,又欠下了债.后来她决定住到供饭食的公寓里去,在巴黎皇家大街特.圣.亚母夫人的有名的公寓里住了一阵子.她的房东太太的客厅里常有衣衫褴褛的花花公子和不干不净的美人儿,她就在这些人面前施展出她的手段和魅力.蓓基喜欢应酬交际,要不然就像鸦片鬼没有烟抽那样难过.住在公寓的时候,她很快活.有一次她对一个偶尔碰见的伦敦老相识说:"这儿的女人跟梅飞厄的女人一样有意思,不过衣服旧些罢了.男人们戴的手套全是选过的旧东西,而且他们的确是该死的流氓,可是也不见得比上流社会的某人某人更糟糕.房主人有些俗气,可是我看她比某某夫人还高雅一点儿呢."她提到的一位太太是时髦场上的尖儿,她的真姓名我死也不愿意说出来.到晚上,特.圣.亚母夫人的客厅里开了灯,男人们戴了宝星,挂了绶带,坐在桌子旁边玩埃加脱,女人们离得远一些坐着;乍一看,真会叫人当他们全是上流人物,主妇也是真正的伯爵夫人.被他们哄骗过去的人着实不少.有一个时候,蓓基就是伯爵夫人客厅里最出风头的人物.
大概她的一八一五年的老债主找着了她,使她不能在巴黎住下去.可怜的女人忽然被逼离开巴黎,到布督塞尔去了.
布鲁塞尔的一切她记得很清楚.她抬头看见自己住的屋子,想起贝亚爱格思家里的马车歇在旅馆门前,一家子叫着闹着想买了马逃走,觉得好笑.她又到滑铁卢和莱根去走了一转.在莱根,她看见乔治.奥斯本的墓碑,着实感叹,把它画了下来.她说:"那可怜的爱神!他多爱我!他真是个傻瓜!不知小爱米还活着吗?她是个好心肠的小东西.还有她哥哥那大胖子.他那张相片画得又肥又大,真滑稽,还在我的纸堆里呢.他们都是忠厚老实的好人."
蓓基动身到布鲁塞尔的时候,特.圣.亚母夫人写了一封介绍信,把她推荐给当地的特.波罗地诺伯爵夫人.伯爵夫人的丈夫原来是拿破仑手下的大将,有名的特.波罗地诺伯爵.这位英雄一死,留下的妻子无以为生,只得开公寓给客人包饭,一方面摆张牌桌子抽些头钱,借此过活.二流的花花公子和风月场中的老手,经常和人打官司的寡妇,老实的英国人,满以为这种地方就能代表大陆式生活的,都到特.波罗地诺夫人这儿来吃饭和赌钱.爱风流的小伙子们吃饭的时候请大家喝香槟酒,陪着女人们坐马车兜风,租了马匹到乡下去游耍,凑了钱买票请大家看戏听歌剧,站在女人背后,紧挨着她们美丽的肩膀赌钱,然后写信回家给德芬郡的爹娘,描写自己在外国上流社会里过得多么愉快.
在布鲁塞尔和在巴黎一样,蓓基在上等的公寓里是极露头角的,算得上那儿的王后.凡是有人请她喝香槟酒,送她花球,陪她到乡下兜风,请她坐包厢看戏,她从来不拒绝,可是她最喜欢的还是晚上的埃加脱纸牌戏.她赌钱的输赢很大.起初她手笔很小,后来便用五法郎的银币,甚至于拿破仑大洋钱来赌,再后来便出借据.慢慢的房饭钱也付不出了,只得问小伙子们借钱.她有了现钱,便欺负特.波罗地诺夫人,不像空手的时候那么甜嘴蜜舌了.有的时候她穷得可怜,只能十个苏(法国最小的钱币名.)一注小赌赌.等到本季的津贴到手,她还掉房饭钱,立刻又和罗西纽尔先生或是特.拉夫爵士交起手来.
说来丢脸,蓓基离开布鲁塞尔的时候,欠了特.波罗地诺夫人三个月的房饭钱.以后凡是有英国主顾来,特.波罗地诺夫人便把这件事告诉他们,还说她怎么赌钱,怎么喝酒,怎么对英国教会里的默甫牧师跪下借钱,怎么对默甫牧师的学生奴得尔大少爷(他是奴得尔爵士的儿子)甜嘴蜜舌,送情卖俏,怎么把他一直带到自己的房间里,怎么和他玩埃加脱赢了他好几笔数目很大的款子等等,许多不要脸的勾当.她说罗登太太简直是一条毒蛇.
我们这流浪人在欧洲各个城市里到处为家,像俄底修斯和班非尔德.莫尔.加路(加路(Ｂａｍｙｌｄｅ Ｍｏｏｒｅ Ｃａｒｅｗ,１６９３—１７７０?)本是德芬郡一个牧师的儿子,从学校里逃走之后,和吉卜赛流浪人一起生活,到过许多地方.)一样没有定踪,对于下流生活越来越爱好.不久她游荡成性,来往的人可怕得很,你碰见了准会吓的毛发直竖.
欧洲大陆上无论什么城市里都有一小撮英国人,全是社会的渣滓.他们的名字,到了一定的时候就会在州官的庭上给地保海姆泊先生当众宣读一次(这意思就是说他们都是受政府通缉的罪犯.).有些人往往是好人家的少爷,只是家里不认他们了.他们常到的地方是弹子房.咖啡馆.跑马场.赌场.他们欠了债还不出,给关在监牢里.他们喝酒,吹牛,争闹,打架,欠了账溜掉算数,跟法国和德国的军官决斗,打牌的时候,专让斯卜内这种人上当,骗他们的钱.有了现钱到手,他们就坐了可以容人睡觉的华丽的大马车到巴登去;赌博输了钱,加一倍赌注再下手,骗人的手段万无一失.没有钱的时候,他们就是衣衫褴褛的时髦绅士,穷形急相的纨子弟,在赌场里东挨挨,西凑凑,直到能够用假票子蒙过了那做庄家的犹太人,或是找到一些像斯卜内一类可以骗钱的傻瓜,才又抖起来.他们一会儿大阔特阔,一会儿又穷极无聊,叫人看着觉得奇怪.想来他们的生活准是富有刺激性的.说老实话,蓓基后来过的也是这种生涯,而且过得很自在.她走过各个城市,就在这种浪人中间混.在德国,每个赌场里都知道这位好运气的罗登太太.在翡冷翠,她和一个特.克吕希加西太太同住.听说在慕尼黑,她是被驱逐出境的.据我的朋友弗莱特立克.毕勤说,他在劳珊地方就在她家里受了欺骗.人家在他晚饭上撒了蒙汗药,害他饭后输了八百镑钱给楼德少佐跟杜西斯先生.关于蓓基的遭遇,我不得不说说清楚,可是这一段时候的事情,说得越少越好.
他们说克劳莱太太运气特别不好的时候,靠着在各地开音乐会和教音乐过活.在维尔巴德的确有过一个特.罗登太太开过早晨的音乐会,由一位斯博夫先生伴奏,说是伐拉契亚地方乐队里最好的钢琴家.我的朋友伊芙斯先生人人都认识,而且处处地方都到过.他说一八三○年他在斯德拉堡的时候,有一个叫利蓓加夫人的女人在歌剧《白朗希太太》里面串演了一个角色,引起戏院里一场大闹.结果她给看客嘘下台去,一则她唱做都不行,主要是因为正厅中军官们的座位里有几个人不识时务,出来帮她,反害她下了台.伊芙斯说这个倒楣的新手不是别人,正是罗登.克劳莱太太.
她后来到处流浪,有了钱就赌,赌输了就马马虎虎对付着过日子,不知道她究竟用的什么法子.据说她也曾到过彼得堡,可是很快的给当地的公安机关驱逐出境.由此看来,后来谣传她在托帕立兹和维也纳替俄国政府做间谍的话是没有根据的.又有人告诉我说她在巴黎还认到了亲戚,就是她的外婆.她外婆并不是贵族蒙脱莫伦西家里的人,却是个面目可憎的老婆子,在大街上一家戏院子里管包厢.她们两人会面的事情既有人在别处提起,想来总有好些人知道.当时的情景一定非常使人感动,不过可靠的细节我却不能告诉你.
有一次在罗马,特.罗登太太半年的津贴刚刚汇到当地最有名的银行里,正值波洛尼亚亲王和王妃在宫里开跳舞会.这位亲王是大资本家,每到冬天大开舞会的时候,凡是银行里存款超过五百斯固第(十八.九世纪在意大利通行的银币.)的存户,都给请去作客,因此蓓基也得了一张请帖,有一天晚上在他们豪华的宴会上出席.王妃的娘家姓邦贝利,是古罗马第二朝皇帝的后裔,她的另一个老祖宗是奥林波斯族的爱琪利亚(爱琪利亚(Ｅｇｅｒｉａ)是个女神,相传嫁给奴玛王为妻.神仙们的住所是奥林波斯山,所以说她是奥林波斯一族的人.).亲王的祖父,亚历山特罗.波洛尼亚,从前出卖肥皂.香水.香烟和手帕,替城里的绅士跑跑腿,也借钱给人盘剥些利钱,不过规模不大.这次宴会,凡是在罗马有些名儿的都来了,其中有亲王.公爵.大使.艺术家.拉提琴的.教会里的大执事.年轻的公子和他们的教师等等,各色各等的人物都有.所有的厅堂陈设得十分富丽,灯火点得雪亮,宫里摆满了假古董和镀金的画框子(里面当然也有画儿).在屋顶上,护壁板上,专为教皇和大皇帝预备的丝绒天幔上,都装饰着大大的金色王冠和亲王家的纹章,是红底子上一颗金色的蕈,恰好和他家出卖的手帕一样颜色;亲王的纹章旁边当然还有邦贝利的纹章,是一个银色的喷泉.
蓓基才从翡冷翠坐了驿车到达罗马,住在一家小客店里,居然也得了波洛尼亚亲王的一张请帖.她的女佣人仔仔细细替她打扮了一番,她便勾着楼德少佐的胳膊一同去赴豪华的跳舞会.那时她恰巧和这位少佐同路旅行(第二年在拿波里一熗打死拉福利亲王的就是他;有一次约翰.白克斯金爵士和他玩埃加脱,发现除了牌桌上的四张皇帝之外,他帽子里另外藏了四张,就用棍子把他揍了一顿)......他们两人同路旅行,所以一起进宫.蓓基看见许多熟悉的脸庞儿,还是从前过好日子时候的相识;当时她虽然也和现在一样品行不端,做的坏事却还没有给人揭穿.楼德少佐认得好多留连鬓胡子的外国人,样子尖利,钮扣洞里挂着勋章,可是勋章上面的条子缎带都很肮脏,里面的衬衫是不敢露在外面的了.楼德少佐的本国人看见他都躲开不理他.蓓基也认识几个太太,有的是法国寡妇,有的是冒牌的意大利伯爵夫人,受丈夫虐待而出走的.咳!我们曾经和名利场上最上等的人物来往,对于这些渣滓弃物,下流的东西,说些什么好呢?我们要玩纸牌,也要用干净的,不要这副肮脏牌.多少出外旅行过的人都曾碰见过这批闯江湖的骗子,他们像尼姆和毕斯多尔(莎士比亚历史剧《亨利第四》.《亨利第五》以及《温莎的风流娘儿们》中胖子福尔斯塔夫(Ｆａｌｓｔａｆｆ)的朋友.)一样跟着大伙旅客来来往往,仿佛是正规军之外专事抢劫的游击.他们也穿上英国兵的服色,夸口说是英国的军官,其实是靠自己打劫过日子,有的时候犯了法,给吊死在路旁的绞架上.
刚才说到她扶着楼德少佐,在一间间的屋子里穿来穿去,在酒食柜上喝了许多香槟酒.许多人,尤其是少佐这一帮非正规的军人们,都其势汹汹的拥在酒食柜周围要吃的.他们两人吃喝够了,便到处闲逛,一直走到王妃的私人小客厅里.这间客厅在最后面,是用粉红丝绒装饰的,里面有爱神维纳斯的像和好几面银镶边的威尼斯大镜子.亲王一家正在那里款待贵客,大家围着一张圆桌子吃晚饭.蓓基记得从前斯丹恩勋爵家里请贵客的排场就跟这个差不多,她自己也坐过这样的席.想着,抬眼看见斯丹恩勋爵正坐在波洛尼亚亲王的筵席上.
他的光秃秃的前额又白又亮,从前给金刚钻割破的地方结成一条血红的疤.他的红胡子染成了紫黑色,使他本来苍白的脸色显得更加苍白.他身上挂满了各色宝星勋章,蓝色的绶带等等.虽然同桌有一个公国的大公爵.一位亲王.两位王妃,可是都不及他势力浩大.在他身旁坐着美丽的贝拉唐那伯爵夫人.她娘家姓特.葛拉地,她丈夫保罗.台拉.贝拉唐那伯爵的昆虫标本是有名的.他出使到莫洛哥皇帝那里去,离家已经好久了.
蓓基一看见这位眼熟的有名人物,忽然觉得楼德少佐寒蠢的了不得,讨厌的卢克上尉也是浑身香烟味儿.她立刻改了态度,面子上摆出有身分太太的架子,心底里也配上有身分太太的感情,仿佛自己又回到了梅飞厄.她想:"那个女人看上去很笨,脾气也不好.我想她决不能替他开心.他一定觉得气闷.他跟我在一起的时候可是从来不觉得气闷的."这种动人的希望.恐惧和回忆一时都来了,把她兴奋得心上别别的跳.她努力使自己的眼睛放出光彩,瞧着那位大人物.(她的胭脂一直搽到眼皮底下,使她的眼睛闪闪发亮)每逢斯丹恩勋爵戴宝星挂绶带的晚上,他同时也摆出最庄重的仪态,不论举止谈吐,都像一位了不起的贵人,配得上他的身分.蓓基见他雍容华贵地笑着,样子很随便,可是又高贵,又庄严,心里真是敬服.啊,老天,他的口角多么俏皮聪明,谈话的题材多么丰富,举动多么威严,跟他在一起多么有趣味!她失去了这样的朋友,换来的是楼德少佐和卢克上尉一类的人;楼德少佐一股子雪茄烟和白兰地的气味.卢克上尉出言粗俗,像个打拳的,说起笑话来全是赛马场里骑师的口吻.她想:"不知他还记得我吗?"斯丹恩勋爵正在和旁边一位显赫的贵妇人说笑,不承望一抬头看见了蓓基.
他们四目相遇的时候,蓓基激动极了.她努力摆出最可爱的笑脸,娇滴滴怯生生的向他行一个屈膝礼.他惊得呆了,对她瞪着眼,麦克白开跳舞会请吃晚饭的时候看见班可(班可(Ｂａｎｇｕｏ)是莎士比亚悲剧《麦克白》中被麦克白谋杀的将军.)的鬼魂突然出现,一定也是这样.他张着嘴对她呆望,讨厌的楼德少佐却把她拉着就走.
他说:"到饭间去吃晚饭吧,罗太太,瞧着这些阔佬吃喝,我的肚子也饿了.咱们去喝些老头儿的香槟酒去."蓓基心想那天他已经喝得太多了.
第二天她到毕新山去散步......罗马的毕新山相当于英国的海德公园,没事干的人都在那里逛.她去散步的目的大概希望再看见斯丹恩勋爵一面,不巧她碰见的却是另外一个相识,就是斯丹恩勋爵的亲信非希先生.非希走上前来随随便便的向她点点头,伸出一个手指头碰了一碰帽子边,说道:"我知道您在这儿,一直从您的旅馆跟到这儿来了.我有几句话劝您."
蓓基觉得希望来了,激动得很,尽力摆出架子说道:"是斯丹恩勋爵的劝告吗?"
亲信佣人答道:"不,这是我的劝告.罗马不卫生的很."
"非希先生,罗马要到复活节以后才不卫生呢,冬天有什么不好?"
"我告诉您,这儿现在就不卫生,老是有人得疟疾.泥塘子里吹来的风真讨厌,不管在什么季节都有人害病死掉.克劳莱太太,你向来是个好汉,我拿名誉担保,我是很关心你的.听我的活,赶快离开罗马吧,不然你就会害病,就会有性命危险."
蓓基心里虽然又气又怒,可是面上却笑着说:"什么?暗杀我这样的可怜虫吗?这倒像小说里的情节了!难道勋爵的向导是刺客,行李车里面还有尖刀吗?吓!我不走,单是叫他难受难受也好.我在这儿的时候自有人保护我."
这一回轮到非希先生笑了.他说:"保护你?谁来保护你呢?跟你来往的赌棍,像少佐,上尉,只要有一百金路易到手,就会谋了您的性命.那楼德少佐......他根本不是什么少佐,就跟我不是勋爵大人一样......那楼德少佐过去干的坏事尽够叫他去做摇船的囚犯,或者还不止这点处罚呢.我们什么事都知道,每处地方都有朋友.您在巴黎见过什么人,找到什么亲戚,我们全知道.您瞪着眼也没用,我们的确知道啊!您想想,为什么在欧洲大陆的时候没一个公使肯睬您?这都是因为您得罪了一位大人物.他是从来不饶人的,他一看见你,比以前加倍的生气.昨儿晚上他回家的时候简直像发疯一样.特.贝拉唐那夫人为你还大发脾气,跟他闹了一场."
蓓基道:"哦,原来是特.贝拉唐那夫人,是不是啊?"她听了刚才一席话,心里害怕,现在稍觉放心.
"不是她.她倒没有关系,反正老在吃醋.我告诉你,这是他大人的意思.你不该在他面前露脸.如果你再呆在这儿,将来准懊悔.听我的话.快走吧.勋爵的马车来了!"他拉着蓓基的胳膊,急急的转到花园的小径里.正在这时,斯丹恩勋爵的马车飞跑过去,车身上画着灿烂的纹章,拉车的马匹全是有了钱也未必买得着的名种.特.贝拉唐那夫人靠在靠垫上.她皮肤带黑,十分娇艳,却恼着脸儿;怀里躺着一只小狗,头顶上的小阳伞向左右摇晃着.斯丹恩老头儿躺在她旁边,脸色青灰,眼光像凶神一般.仇恨.愤怒.欲望,有时还能使他的眼睛发亮,普通的时候,他眼色阴沉沉的仿佛对于世界上一切都看厌了.可恶的老头儿对于一切乐趣.最美丽的景物,都已经失去兴味.
马车飞驰过去的时候克劳莱太太从树丛后面偷偷张望,非希先生轻轻说道:"他昨天晚上给你吓着了,至今没有恢复呢."蓓基想:"这样我才算出了一口气."非希先生(勋爵大人死后,他就回到自己本国居住,向亲王捐了一个爵位,成为非契男爵,大家对他很尊敬)......非希先生所说的话,不知到底可靠不可靠,不知是勋爵真的有意杀死蓓基而他的亲信不愿意行刺呢,还不知是他大人要在罗马过冬,看见了蓓基非常不高兴,特地命令亲信去恫吓她一下,把她赶走.总之这次威吓很有效,那小女人从此没有敢再去打搅她从前的恩人.
大家都知道他大人是在一八三○年法国革命发生两个月之后在拿波里去世的.报纸上说,光荣的乔治.葛斯泰芙.斯丹恩侯爵,岗脱堡的岗脱伯爵,在爱尔兰缙绅录里又是海尔包路子爵和毕却莱与葛立斯贝的男爵,曾得过一级骑士勋章.西班牙金羊毛勋章.俄国一级圣尼古拉斯勋章.土耳其月牙勋章,曾任尚粉大臣.后宫密室侍从官.摄政王御前义勇军统领.伦敦博物馆董事.伦敦船泊管理所高级所员.白衣僧学校理事,又曾得民法博士学位,最近中风逝世,原因是这次法国皇室崩溃,给予勋爵大人感情上沉重的打击.
某周报刊登了一篇文章,淋漓尽致的描写他的品德.才学.种种的善举,说他人格如何伟大,情感如何丰富.他和显赫的波朋皇族联过姻,交谊是极深的,因此伟大的亲戚遭到不幸,他也活不下去了.他的遗体葬在拿波里,可是他的心,那宽宏大量的.充满了高贵的情感的心,给装在银瓮里面送到岗脱堡.滑格先生写道:"他死了,贫苦的人们失去了依靠,艺术失去了提倡者,社会上少了一件光华灿烂的装饰,英国少了一个伟大的政治家和爱国志士"等等.
他的家属为他的遗嘱争吵得很厉害,并且企图逼迫特.贝拉唐那夫人把勋爵那颗有名的金刚钻交出来.金刚钻戒指叫做"犹太人的眼睛",勋爵生前总戴在食指上的,据说在他死后特.贝拉唐那夫人便把它勒下来据为己有.可是勋爵亲信的朋友兼随从非希先生出来证明,说戒指是勋爵去世前两天送给夫人的.勋爵的遗产承继人侵害夫人的权利,又要求她交出勋爵小书桌里的现钞.珠宝.拿波里和法国的公债票,也由非希先生证明这些财产早已由勋爵赠送给她了.
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