Chapter 2

In the course of the next day, the first of the usual visits for the newly engaged couple were exchanged. The New York ritual was precise and inflexibl in such matters.

A visit to Mrs. Manson Mingott’s faraway home was necessary to receive the old woman’s blessing. Such a visit to her home was always an amusing episode to the young man.The house itself was already a historic document, though not revered as certain old houses around the city.

Meanwhile, as every person Mrs. Mingott cared to see came to her (and she could fill her rooms as easily as the Beauforts, without adding a single item to the menu of her suppers), she did not suffer from her geographic isolation .

The immense increase of flesh had descended on her in middle life, changing her from a plump active little woman with a neatly turned foot and ankle into something as vast as a natural phenomenon . She had accepted this confidently as she did with all her trials, peering into her mirror as an expanse of firm pink and white flesh, in the center of which the traces of a small face survived as if awaiting to be removed. A flight of smooth double chins led down to the dizzy depths of a stillsnowy bosom; and around and below, wave after wave of black silk surged away over the edges of a sizeable armchair , with two tiny white hands poised .

The burden of Mrs. Manson Mingott’s flesh had long since made it impossible for her to go up and down stairs, and with characteristic independence she had made her reception rooms upstairs and established herself (in obvious violation of all the New York social rules) on the first floor of her house.

Her visitors were startled and fascinated by the foreignness of this arrangement, which recalled scenes in French fictio , and architectural incentives to immorality which the simple American had never dreamed of. That was how women with lovers lived in the wicked old societies, in apartments with all the rooms on the same floor, as their novels described. It amused Newland Archer to picture her blameless life led in the stage-setting of wicked love affairs; but he said to himself, with considerable admiration, that if a lover had been what she wanted, the fearless woman would have had him too.

To the visitors’ general relief , the Countess Olenska was not present in her grandmother’s drawing room during the visit, which went off successfully, as was to have been expected.Old Mrs. Mingott was delighted with the engagement, which,being long foreseen by watchful relatives, had been carefully passed upon in family council .

The visit was breaking up pleasantly when the door opened to admit the Countess Olenska, who was followed by the unexpected figure of Julius Beaufort.

“Ha! Beaufort, this is a rare favor!” exclaimed Mrs.Manson Mingott. (She had an odd foreign way of addressing men by their surnames .)

“Thanks. I wish it might happen more often,” said the visitor in his easy arrogant way. “I’m generally so tied down; but I met the Countess Ellen in Madison Square, and she was good enough to let me walk home with her.”

In the hall, while Mrs. Welland and May drew on their coats, Archer saw that the Countess Olenska was looking at him with a faintly questioning smile.

“Of course you know already — about May and me,” he said, answering her look with a shy laugh. “She scolded me for not giving you the news last night at the Opera. I had her orders to tell you that we were engaged — but I couldn’t, in that crowd.”

The smile passed from Countess Olenska’s eyes to her lips.She looked younger, more like the bold, brown Ellen Mingott of his boyhood. “Of course I know; yes. And I’m so glad. But one doesn’t tell such things first in a crowd. Goodbye, and come see me some day,” she said, still looking at Archer.

In the carriage, no one mentioned Ellen Olenska, but Archer knew that Mrs. Welland was thinking, “It’s a mistake for Ellen, a recently separated woman, to be seen, the very day after her arrival, parading up Fifth Avenue with Julius Beaufort, a married man.”

The next evening, old Mr. Sillerton Jackson came to dine with the Archers. Mrs. Archer was a shy woman and shrank from society; but she liked to be well-informed as to its doings.Her old friend Mr. Sillerton Jackson applied to the investigation of his friends’ affairs the patience of a collector and the science of a naturalist. Therefore, whenever anything happened that Mrs. Archer wanted to know about, she asked Mr. Jackson to dine.

Of course old Jackson wanted to talk about Ellen Olenska,and of course Mrs. Archer and Janey wanted to hear what he had to tell. All three would be slightly embarrassed by Newland’s presence, now that his prospective relation to the Mingott clan had been made known; and the young man waited with an amused curiosity to see how they would resolve the difficulty.

The group first discussed Newland’s engagement to May Welland, certainly no better a match in New York. This Mrs. Archer agreed with, and her son knew she agreed;but he knew also that she had been upset by the premature announcement of his engagement, or rather by its cause;and it was for that reason — because on the whole he was a tender and indulgent master — that he had stayed at home that evening.

“It’s not that I don’t approve of the Mingotts, devotion to their relations, but why Newland’s engagement should be mixed up with that Olenska woman’s comings and goings I don’t see,” Mrs. Archer grumbled to Janey one evening, the only witness of her slight lapses from perfect sweetness.

She had behaved beautifully during the call on Mrs.Welland; but Newland knew (and his fianceé doubtless guessed) that all through the visit she and Janey were nervously on the watch for Madame Olenska’s possible intrusion ; and when they left the house together she had permitted herself to say to her son, “I’m thankful that Mrs. Welland received us alone.”

These indications of inward disturbance moved Archer the more that he too felt that the Mingotts had gone a little too far.But, as it was against all the rules of their code that the mother and son should ever mention what was uppermost in their thoughts, he simply replied, “Oh, well, there’s always a series of family parties to be gone through when one gets engaged, and the sooner it’s over the better.”

Her revenge , he felt — her lawful revenge — would be to“draw” Mr. Jackson that evening on the Countess Olenska;and, having publicly done his duty as a future member of the Mingott clan, Archer had no objection to hearing the lady discussed in private — except that the subject was already beginning to bore him.

In answer to Mrs. Archer’s roundabout question relating to Ellen Olenska, Mr. Jackson said with deliberation, “No, she was not at the ball.”

“Ah —” Mrs. Archer murmured , in a tone that implied she had that decency.

“She was seen walking up Fifth Avenue this afternoon with Mr. Beaufort.”

“Mercy —” moaned Mrs. Archer, evidently perceiving the uselessness of trying to ascribe the actions of foreigners to a sense of delicacy.

“I wonder what sort of hat she wears in the afternoon. At the opera I know she had on dark blue velvet, perfectly plain and flat — like a nightgown .”

“Janey!” said her mother, and Miss Archer blushed and tried to look bold.

“It was, at any rate , in better taste not to go to the ball,”Mrs. Archer continued.

A spirit of unruliness moved her son to remark, “I don’t think it was a question of taste with her. May said she meant to go, and then decided that the dress in question wasn’t right for a ball.”

Mrs. Archer smiled at this confirmation of her inference .“Poor Ellen,” she simply remarked; adding compassionately , “We must always bear in mind what an eccentric bringing-up Medora Manson gave her.”

“She’s ‘poor Ellen’ certainly because she had the bad luck to make a wretched marriage,” began her son, “but I don’t see that that’s a reason for hiding her head as if she were the culprit .”

“That, I suppose,” said Mr. Jackson, speculatively , “is the line the Mingotts mean to take.”

The young man reddened . “Madame Olenska has had an unhappy life; that doesn’t make her an outcast.”

“There are rumors,” began Mr. Jackson, glancing at Janey.

“Oh, I know — the secretary,” the young man took him up.“They say,” he went on, “that the secretary helped her to get away from her brute of a husband, who kept her practically a prisoner? Well, what if he did? I hope there isn’t a man among us who wouldn’t have done the same in such a case.”

“I’m told she’s looking for a house. She means to live here,”said Mr. Jackson calmly.

“I hear she means to get a divorce ,” said Janey boldly.

“I hope she will!” Archer exclaimed.

The word had fallen like a bombshell in the pure and tranquil atmosphere of the Archer dining room.

“You say the secretary merely helped her to get away, my dear fellow? Well, he was still helping her a year later, then; for somebody met them living in France together,” continued Mr.Jackson.

Newland reddened. “Living together? Well, why not? Who had the right to make her life over if she hadn’t? I’m sick of the hypocrisy that would bury alive a woman of her age if her husband prefers to live with other women.”

He stopped and turned away angrily to light his cigar.“Women ought to be free — as free as we are,” he declared,making a discovery of which he was too irritated to measure the terrific consequence .

“Well,” said Mr. Jackson after a pause, “ apparently Count Olenska takes your view; for I never heard of his having lifted a finger to get his wife back.”

That evening, after Mr. Jackson had taken himself away,Newland Archer mounted thoughtfully to his own study. As he dropped into his armchair near the fire, his eyes rested on a large photograph of May Welland, which the young girl had given him in the first days of their romance , and which had now displaced all the other portraits on the table. With a new sense of awe he looked at the frank forehead, serious eyes and innocent mouth of the young creature — that terrifying product of the social system he belonged to and believed in — the young girl who knew nothing and expected everything. She looked back at him like a stranger through May Welland’s familiar features .Once more it was borne in on him that marriage was not the safe anchorage he had been taught to think, but a voyage on uncharted seas.

The case of the Countess Olenska had stirred up old settled convictions and set them drifting dangerously through his mind. “Women should be free — as free as we are.” His own exclamation struck to the root of a problem that it was agreed in his world to regard as non- existent . “Nice” women, however wronged, would never claim the kind of freedom he meant, and generous -minded men like himself were therefore — in the heat of argument — the more ready to concede it to them. In truth,although, he was pledged to defend his fianceé’s cousin, on his wife’s part, the conduct would justify him in calling down on her all the thunders of Church and State. Of course the dilemma was purely hypothetical ; since he wasn’t a Polish nobleman , it was absurd to speculate what his wife’s rights would be if he were.But, what could he and she really know of each other, since it was his duty, as a “decent” fellow, to conceal his past from her,and hers, as a marriageable girl, to have no past to conceal?What if, for some one of the subtler reasons that would tell with both of them, they should tire of each other, misunderstand or irritate each other?

He thought of his friends’ marriages — the happy ones —and saw none with the passionate and tender comradeship he pictured in his permanent relationship with May Welland. He perceived that such a picture called for her to have a freedom of judgment which her family, as all good families do, trained her not to possess. He then realized with a shiver that his marriage would become what most others were about him: a dull association of social interests held together by ignorance on one side and hypocrisy on the other.

He thought of Lawrence Lefferts, who had so completely realized this ideal. He had so formed his wife to his convenience that even in his most obvious love affairs with other men’s wives, his wife went about smiling, saying that Lawrence was so frightfully strict.

They all lived in a reality where the real thing was never said or done, but only represented by a set of signs or code words. Well-bred girls were ignorant to the ways of the world,and were shocked into the “facts of life” upon entering their marriage. Newland was on the verge of marriage to his beloved fianceé, and could not see why the entrance of Ellen Olenska should cause such a disturbance in his life and mind. He could not really see why her fate should have the least bearing on his;yet he dimly felt that he had only just begun to measure the risks of the championship which his engagement had forced upon him.

A few days later the bolt fell.

The Lovell Mingotts had sent out cards for what was known as “a formal dinner” to introduce the Countess Olenska into good society. The guests had been selected with a boldness and discrimination .

Forty-eight hours after the invitations were sent out, the unbelievable had happened; everyone had refused the Mingotts’invitation except the Beauforts and old Mr. Jackson and his sister. The intended slight was emphasized by the fact that even those who were of the Mingott clan, were among those inflictin it; and by the uniform wording of the notes, in all of which the writers “regretted that they were unable to accept,” without the plea of a “previous engagement” that ordinary courtesy prescribed .

New York society was, in those days, far too small, and too scant in its resources , for everyone in it not to know exactly on which evenings people were free; and it was thus possible for the recipients of Mrs. Lovell Mingott’s invitations to make cruelly clear their determination not to meet the Countess Olenska.

The blow was unexpected; but the Mingotts, as their way was, met it gallantly . Mrs. Lovell Mingott confided the case to Mrs. Welland, who confided it to Newland Archer; who, outraged , appealed passionately and authoritatively to his mother;who, after a painful period of inward resistance, embraced his cause with an energy redoubled by her previous hesitations ,said, “I’ll go and see Louisa van der Luyden.”

The New York of Newland Archer’s day was a small and slippery pyramid. At its base was a firm foundation of what Mrs.Archer called “plain people,” an honorable but obscure majority of respectable families who had been raised above their level by marriage with one of the ruling clans. People, Mrs. Archer always said, were not as particular as they used to be; and with old Catherine Spicer ruling one end of Fifth Avenue, and Julius Beaufort the other, you couldn’t expect the old traditions to last much longer.

Firmly narrowing upward from this wealthy but inconspicuous line of power was the compact and dominant group which the Mingotts, Newlands, Chiverses and Mansons so actively represented. Most people imagined them to be the very peak of the pyramid; but they themselves (at least those of Mrs.Archer’s generation) were aware that only a still smaller number of families could lay claim to that eminence .

Mrs. Archer and her son and daughter, like everyone else in New York, knew these privileged beings were those who came of an old English family, who had married the van der Luydens,direct descendants of the first Dutch governor of Manhattan,and related by marriages to several members of the French and British aristocracy.

Two figures impressively emerged above all the rest as the leaders of the Old New York aristocracy, Mr. and Mrs. Henry van der Luyden. Mr. and Mrs. van der Luyden divided their time between their mansion in Maryland, and Skuytercliff, the great estate on the Hudson which had been one of the colonial grants of the Dutch government to the famous first Governor,and of which Mr. van der Luyden was still master. Their large solemn house in Madison Avenue was seldom opened, and when they came to town they received in it only their most intimate friends.

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precise /prɪˈs a ɪs/ adj. 精确的

inflexibl /ɪnˈfleksəbl adj. 无弹性的，不容变更的

revere /rɪˈvɪə/ vt. 崇敬

item /ˈ a ɪtəm/ n. 一项

geographic /ˌdʒɪəˈɡr æ fɪk/ adj. 地理的

isolation /ˌ a ɪsəˈleɪʃən/ n. 隔绝

descend /dɪˈsend/ vi. 降临

plump /plʌmp/ adj. 圆胖的

ankle /ˈ æ ŋkl/ n. 脚踝

phenomenon /fɪˈnɒmɪnən/ n. 非凡的人或物

peer /pɪə/ vi. 凝视

expanse /ɪkˈsp æ ns/ n. 宽阔的区域

trace /treɪs/ n. 痕迹

await /əˈweɪt/ vi. 等候

surge /sɜ:dʒ/ vi. 汹涌

armchair /ˌɑ:mˈtʃeə/ n. 扶手椅子

poised /pɔɪzd/ adj. （身体部位）摆好姿势不动的

burden /ˈbɜ:dən/ n. 负担

characteristic /ˌk æ rəktəˈrɪstɪk/ adj. 特有的

establish /ɪˈst æ blɪʃ/ vt. 确定，使立足

violation /ˌv a ɪəˈleɪʃən/ n. 违反

startle /ˈstɑ:tl/ vt. 震惊

fascinate /ˈf æ sɪneɪt/ vt. 深深吸引，迷住

fictio /ˈfɪkʃən/ n. 小说

architectural /ˌɑ:kɪˈtektʃərəl/ adj. 建筑的

incentive /ɪnˈsentɪv/ n. 激励

immorality /ˌɪməˈr æ lətɪ/ n. 不道德

wicked /ˈwɪkɪd/ adj. 坏的

relief /rɪˈli:f/ n. 欣慰

council /ˈk a ʊnsəl/ n. 会议

surname /ˈsɜ:neɪm/ n. 姓

arrogant /ˈ æ rə ɡ ənt/ adj. 傲慢的

faintly /feɪntlɪ/ adv. 微弱地

shrink /ʃrɪŋk/ vi. 畏缩

investigation /ɪnˌvestɪˈ ɡ eɪʃən/ n. 调查

embarrass /ɪmˈb æ rəs/ vt. 使尴尬，使害羞

prospective /prəˈspektɪv/ adj. 预期的

clan /kl æ n/ n. 氏族

curiosity /ˌkjʊərɪˈɒsətɪ/ n. 好奇心

premature /ˌpreməˈtjʊə/ adj. 过早的

indulgent /ɪnˈdʌldʒənt/ adj. 纵容的

comings and goings 来来往往

grumble /ˈ ɡ rʌmbl/ vi. 抱怨

witness /ˈwɪtnɪs/ n. 证人

lapse /l æ ps/ n. 过失，流逝

intrusion /ɪnˈtru:ʒən/ n. 闯入

indication /ˌɪndɪˈkeɪʃən/ n. 暗示

inward /ˈɪnwəd/ adj. 内部的

code /kəʊd/ n. 准则

uppermost /ˈʌpəməʊst/ adj. 最上的

revenge /rɪˈvendʒ/ n. 报复

roundabout /ˈr a ʊndəˌb a ʊt/ adj. 迂回的

murmur /ˈmɜ:mə/ vt. 低语

imply /ɪmˈplaɪ/ vt. 暗示

moan /məʊn/ vt. 呻吟

ascribe /əˈskr a ɪb/ vt. 归于

nightgown /ˈn a ɪt ɡa ʊn/ n. 睡衣

blush /blʌʃ/ vi. 脸红

at any rate 无论如何

unruliness /ʌnˈru:lɪnɪs/ n. 难以控制

confirmation /ˌkɒnfəˈmeɪʃən/ n. 证实

inference /ˈɪnfərəns/ n. 推论

compassionately /kəmˈp æ ʃənətlɪ/ adv. 有同情心地

eccentric /ɪkˈsentrɪk/ adj. 古怪的

wretched /ˈretʃɪd/ adj. 不幸的

culprit /ˈkʌlprɪt/ n. 犯人

speculatively /ˈspekjʊlətɪvlɪ/ adv. 思索地

redden /ˈredən/ vi. 变红

divorce /dɪˈvɔ:s/ n. 离婚

bombshell /ˈbɒmʃel/ n. 意外消息

tranquil /ˈtr æ ŋkwɪl/ adj. 安静的

hypocrisy /hɪˈpɒkrɪsɪ/ n. 伪善

irritate /ˈɪrɪteɪt/ vt. 激怒

terrifi /təˈrɪfɪk/ adj. 可怕的

consequence /ˈkɒnsɪkwəns/ n. 结果

apparently /əˈp æ rəntlɪ/ adv. 显然地

romance /rəʊˈm æ ns/ n. 爱情，浪漫史

portrait /ˈpɔ:trɪt/ n. 肖像

awe /ɔ:/ n. 敬畏

frank /fr æ ŋk/ adj. 坦白的

innocent /ˈɪnəsənt/ adj. 天真无邪的

creature /ˈkri:tʃə/ n. 人

product /ˈprɒdʌkt/ n. 产品

feature /ˈfi:tʃə n. 特征

anchorage /ˈ æ ŋkərɪdʒ/ n. 停泊处

stir /stɜ:/ vi. 挑起，激起

conviction /kənˈvɪkʃən/ n. 信念

drift /drɪft/ vi. 漂流

existent /ɪ ɡ ˈzɪstənt/ adj. 存在的

claim /kleɪm/ vt. 要求

generous /ˈdʒenərəs/ adj. 有雅量的

concede /kənˈsi:d/ vt. 承认

pledge /pledʒ/ vt. 保证

dilemma /dɪˈlemə/ n. 困境

hypothetical /ˌh a ɪpəˈθetɪkəl/ adj. 假设的

Polish /ˈpɒlɪʃ/ adj. 波兰的

nobleman /ˈnəʊblmən/ n. 贵族

absurd /əbˈsɜ:d/ adj. 荒谬的

speculate /ˈspekjʊleɪt/ vt. 推测

conceal /kənˈsi:l/ vt. 隐藏

subtle /ˈsʌtl/ adj. 微妙的

passionate /ˈp æ ʃənət/ adj. 热情的

permanent /ˈpɜ:mənənt/ adj. 永久的

judgment /ˈdʒʌdʒmənt/ n. 判断

shiver /ˈʃɪvə/ n. 颤抖，哆嗦

verge /vɜ:dʒ/ n. 边缘

fate /feɪt/ n. 命运

dimly /ˈdɪmlɪ/ adv. 模糊地

bolt /bəʊlt/ n. 意外

boldness /ˈbəʊldnɪs/ n. 大胆

discrimination /dɪsˌkrɪmɪˈneɪʃən/ n. 辨别力

inflic /ɪnˈflɪkt vt. 施以打击

plea /pli:/ n. 借口

courtesy /ˈkɜ:tɪsɪ/ n. 礼貌

prescribe /prɪˈskr a ɪb/ vt. 规定，开药方

scant /sk æ nt/ adj. 缺少的

resource /rɪˈsɔ:s/ n. 资源

recipient /rɪˈsɪpɪənt/ n. 接受者

gallantly /ˈ ɡæ ləntlɪ/ adv. 勇敢地

confid /kənˈf a ɪd/ vt. 吐露

outrage /ˈ a ʊtreɪdʒ/ vt. 激怒

passionately /ˈp æ ʃənətlɪ/ adv. 热情地

authoritatively /ɔ:ˈθɒrɪtətɪvlɪ/ adv. 命令式地

embrace /ɪmˈbreɪs/ vt. 接受

hesitation /ˌhezɪˈteɪʃən/ n. 犹豫

slippery /ˈslɪpərɪ/ adj. 光滑的

obscure /əbˈskjʊə/ adj. 无名的，鲜为人知的

inconspicuous /ˌɪnkənˈspɪkjʊəs/ adj. 不显眼的

compact /kəmˈp æ kt/ adj. 坚实的

dominant /ˈdɒmɪnənt/ adj. 占优势的

peak /pi:k/ n. 顶点

eminence /ˈemɪnəns/ n. 卓越

privileged /ˈprɪvɪlɪdʒd/ adj. 有特权的

descendant /dɪˈsendənt/ n. 后裔

impressively /ɪmˈpresɪvlɪ/ adv. 令人印象深刻地

emerge /iˈmɜ:dʒ/ vi. 出现

estate /ɪˈsteɪt/ n. 不动产

colonial /kəˈləʊnɪəl/ adj. 殖民地的

grant / ɡ rɑ:nt/ n. 授予

solemn /ˈsɒləm/ adj. 严肃的

intimate /ˈɪntɪmət/ adj. 亲密的 i53sjJo2lBsGe9LyMg/fc9uDUlmbiC58yKenInp9gjAQ1jQIYeWGPHG1cPvNlUKH