adam bede(亚当[1].比德)-第56章
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plain。 And the lover himself thinks so too： the little darling is so
fond of him； her little vanities are so bewitching； he wouldn’t
consent to her being a bit wiser； those kitten…like glances and
movements are just what one wants to make one’s hearth a
paradise。 Every man under such circumstances is conscious of
being a great physiognomist。 Nature； he knows； has a language of
her own； which she uses with strict veracity； and he considers
himself an adept in the language。 Nature has written out his
bride’s character for him in those exquisite lines of cheek and lip
and chin； in those eyelids delicate as petals； in those long lashes
curled like the stamen of a flower； in the dark liquid depths of
those wonderful eyes。 How she will dote on her children！ She is
almost a child herself； and the little pink round things will hang
about her like florets round the central flower； and the husband
will look on； smiling benignly； able； whenever he chooses； to
withdraw into the sanctuary of his wisdom； towards which his
sweet wife will look reverently； and never lift the curtain。 It is a
marriage such as they made in the golden age； when the men were
all wise and majestic and the women all lovely and loving。
It was very much in this way that our friend Adam Bede
thought about Hetty； only he put his thoughts into different words。
If ever she behaved with cold vanity towards him； he said to
himself it is only because she doesn’t love me well enough； and he
was sure that her love； whenever she gave it； would be the most
precious thing a man could possess on earth。 Before you despise
Adam as deficient in penetration； pray ask yourself if you were
ever predisposed to believe evil of any pretty woman—if you ever
could； without hard head…breaking demonstration； believe evil of
the one supremely pretty woman who has bewitched you。 No：
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people who love downy peaches are apt not to think of the stone；
and sometimes jar their teeth terribly against it。
Arthur Donnithorne； too； had the same sort of notion about
Hetty； so far as he had thought of her nature of all。 He felt sure she
was a dear； affectionate； good little thing。 The man who awakes
the wondering tremulous passion of a young girl always thinks her
affectionate； and if he chances to look forward to future years；
probably imagines himself being virtuously tender to her； because
the poor thing is so clingingly fond of him。 God made these dear
women so—and it is a convenient arrangement in case of sickness。
After all； I believe the wisest of us must be beguiled in this way
sometimes； and must think both better and worse of people than
they deserve。 Nature has her language； and she is not
unveracious； but we don’t know all the intricacies of her syntax
just yet； and in a hasty reading we may happen to extract the very
opposite of her real meaning。 Long dark eyelashes； now—what
can be more exquisite？ I find it impossible not to expect some
depth of soul behind a deep grey eye with a long dark eyelash； in
spite of an experience which has shown me that they may go along
with deceit； peculation； and stupidity。 But if； in the reaction of
disgust； I have betaken myself to a fishy eye； there has been a
surprising similarity of result。 One begins to suspect at length that
there is no direct correlation between eyelashes and morals； or
else； that the eyelashes express the disposition of the fair one’s
grandmother； which is on the whole less important to us。
No eyelashes could be more beautiful than Hetty’s； and now；
while she walks with her pigeon…like stateliness along the room
and looks down on her shoulders bordered by the old black lace；
the dark fringe shows to perfection on her pink cheek。 They are
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but dim ill…defined pictures that her narrow bit of an imagination
can make of the future； but of every picture she is the central
figure in fine clothes； Captain Donnithorne is very close to her；
putting his arm round her； perhaps kissing her； and everybody
else is admiring and envying her—especially Mary Burge； whose
new print dress looks very contemptible by the side of Hetty’s
resplendent toilette。 Does any sweet or sad memory mingle with
this dream of the future—any loving thought of her second
parents—of the children she had helped to tend—of any youthful
companion； any pet animal； any relic of her own childhood even？
Not one。 There are some plants that have hardly any roots： you
may tear them from their native nook of rock or wall； and just lay
them over your ornamental flower…pot； and they blossom none the
worse。 Hetty could have cast all her past life behind her and never
cared to be reminded of it again。 I think she had no feeling at all
towards the old house； and did not like the Jacob’s Ladder and the
long row of hollyhocks in the garden better than other flowers—
perhaps not so well。 It was wonderful how little she seemed to care
about waiting on her uncle； who had been a good father to her—
she hardly ever remembered to reach him his pipe at the right
time without being told； unless a visitor happened to be there； who
would have a better opportunity of seeing her as she walked
across the hearth。 Hetty did not understand how anybody could be
very fond of middle…aged people。 And as for those tiresome
children； Marty and Tommy and Totty； they had been the very
nuisance of her life—as bad as buzzing insects that will come
teasing you on a hot day when you want to be quiet。 Marty； the
eldest； was a baby when she first came to the farm； for the
children born before him had died； and so Hetty had had them all
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three； one after the other； toddling by her side in the meadow； or
playing about her on wet days in the half…empty rooms of the large
old house。 The boys were out of hand now； but Totty was still a
day…long plague； worse than either of the others had been； because
there was more fuss made about her。 And there was no end to the
making and mending of clothes。 Hetty would have been glad to
hear that she should never see a child again； they were worse than
the nasty little lambs that the shepherd was always bringing in to
be taken
