老妇人的故事 英文版The Old Wives' Tale
阿诺德.本涅特 Arnold Bennett
II
The courtyard of the Nord Railway Station was lighted by oil-lampstaken from locomotives; their silvered reflectors threw dazzlingrays from all sides on the under portion of the immense yellowmass of the balloon; the upper portion was swaying to and fro withgigantic ungainliness in the strong breeze. It was only a smallballoon, as balloons are measured, but it seemed monstrous as itwavered over the human forms that were agitating themselvesbeneath it. The cordage was silhouetted against the yellowtaffetas as high up as the widest diameter of the balloon, butabove that all was vague, and even spectators standing at adistance could not clearly separate the summit of the great spherefrom the darkly moving sky. The car, held by ropes fastened tostakes, rose now and then a few inches uneasily from the ground.The sombre and severe architecture of the station-buildingsenclosed the balloon on every hand; it had only one way of escape.Over the roofs of that architecture, which shut out the sounds ofthe city, came the irregular booming of the bombardment. Shellswere falling in the southern quarters of Paris, doing perhaps nota great deal of damage, but still plunging occasionally into themidst of some domestic interior and making a sad mess of it. TheParisians were convinced that the shells were aimed maliciously athospitals and museums; and when a child happened to be blown topieces their unspoken comments upon the Prussian savagery werebitter. Their faces said: "Those barbarians cannot even spare ourchildren!" They amused themselves by creating a market in shells,paying more for a live shell than a dead one, and modifying thetariff according to the supply. And as the cattle-market wasempty, and the vegetable-market was empty, and beasts no longerpastured on the grass of the parks, and the twenty-five millionrats of the metropolis were too numerous to furnish interest tospectators, and the Bourse was practically deserted, the trafficin shells sustained the starving mercantile instinct during a verydull period. But the effect on the nerves was deleterious. Thenerves of everybody were like nothing but a raw wound. Violentanger would spring up magically out of laughter, and blows out ofcaresses. This indirect consequence of the bombardment wasparticularly noticeable in the group of men under the balloon.Each behaved as if he were controlling his temper in the mostdifficult circumstances. Constantly they all gazed upwards intothe sky, though nothing could possibly be distinguished there savethe blurred edge of a flying cloud. But the booming came from thatsky; the shells that were dropping on Montrouge came out of thatsky; and the balloon was going up into it; the balloon wasascending into its mysteries, to brave its dangers, to sweep overthe encircling ring of fire and savages.
Sophia stood apart with Carlier. Carlier had indicated aparticular spot, under the shelter of the colonnade, where he saidit was imperative that they should post themselves. Having guidedSophia to this spot, and impressed upon her that they were not tomove, he seemed to consider that the activity of his role wasfinished, and spoke no word. With the very high silk hat which healways wore, and a thin old-fashioned overcoat whose collar wasturned up, he made a rather grotesque figure. Fortunately thenight was not very cold, or he might have passively frozen todeath on the edge of that feverish group. Sophia soon ignored him.She watched the balloon. An aristocratic old man leaned againstthe car, watch in hand; at intervals he scowled, or stamped hisfoot. An old sailor, tranquilly smoking a pipe, walked round andround the balloon, staring at it; once he climbed up into therigging, and once he jumped into the car and angrily threw out ofit a bag, which some one had placed in it. But for the most parthe was calm. Other persons of authority hurried about, talking andgesticulating; and a number of workmen waited idly for orders.
"Where is Chirac?" suddenly cried the old man with the watch.
Several voices deferentially answered, and a man ran away into thegloom on an errand.
Then Chirac appeared, nervous, self-conscious, restless. He wasenveloped in a fur coat that Sophia had never seen before, and hecarried dangling in his hand a cage containing six pigeons whosewhiteness stirred uneasily within it. The sailor took the cagefrom him and all the persons of authority gathered round toinspect the wonderful birds upon which, apparently, momentousaffairs depended. When the group separated, the sailor was to beseen bending over the edge of the car to deposit the cage safely.He then got into the car, still smoking his pipe, and perchedhimself negligently on the wicker-work. The man with the watch wasconversing with Chirac; Chirac nodded his head frequently inacquiescence, and seemed to be saying all the time: "Yes, sir!Perfectly sir! I understand, sir! Yes, sir!"
Suddenly Chirac turned to the car and put a question to thesailor, who shook his head. Whereupon Chirac gave a gesture ofsubmissive despair to the man with the watch. And in an instantthe whole throng was in a ferment.
"The victuals!" cried the man with the watch. "The victuals, nameof God! Must one be indeed an idiot to forget the victuals! Nameof God--of God!"
Sophia smiled at the agitation, and at the inefficient managementwhich had never thought of food. For it appeared that the food hadnot merely been forgotten; it was a question which had not evenbeen considered. She could not help despising all that crowd ofself-important and fussy males to whom the idea had not occurredthat even balloonists must eat. And she wondered whethereverything was done like that. After a delay that seemed verylong, the problem of victuals was solved, chiefly, as far asSophia could judge, by means of cakes of chocolate and bottles ofwine.
"It is enough! It is enough!" Chirac shouted passionately severaltimes to a knot of men who began to argue with him.
Then he gazed round furtively, and with an inflation of the chestand a patting of his fur coat he came directly towards Sophia.Evidently Sophia's position had been prearranged between him andCarlier. They could forget food, but they could think of Sophia'sposition!
All eyes followed him. Those eyes could not, in the gloom,distinguish Sophia's beauty, but they could see that she was youngand slim and elegant, and of foreign carriage. That was enough.The very air seemed to vibrate with the intense curiosity of thoseeyes. And immediately Chirac grew into the hero of some brilliantand romantic adventure. Immediately he was envied and admired byevery man of authority present. What was she? Who was she? Was ita serious passion or simply a caprice? Had she flung herself athim? It was undeniable that lovely creatures did sometimes flingthemselves at lucky mediocrities. Was she a married woman? Anartiste? A girl? Such queries thumped beneath overcoats, while thecorrectness of a ceremonious demeanour was strictly observed.
Chirac uncovered, and kissed her hand. The wind disarranged hishair. She saw that his face was very pale and anxious beneath theswagger of a sincere desire to be brave.
"Well, it is the moment!" he said.
"Did you all forget the food?" she asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. "What will you? One cannot think ofeverything."
"I hope you will have a safe voyage," she said.
She had already taken leave of him once, in the house, and heardall about the balloon and the sailor-aeronaut and thepreparations; and now she had nothing to say, nothing whatever.
He shrugged his shoulders again. "I hope so!" he murmured, but ina tone to convey that he had no such hope.
"The wind isn't too strong?" she suggested.
He shrugged his shoulders again. "What would you?"
"Is it in the direction you want?"
"Yes, nearly," he admitted unwillingly. Then rousing himself: "Eh,well, madame. You have been extremely amiable to come. I held toit very much--that you should come. It is because of you I quitParis."
She resented the speech by a frown.
"Ah!" he implored in a whisper. "Do not do that. Smile on me.After all, it is not my fault. Remember that this may be the lasttime I see you, the last time I regard your eyes."
She smiled. She was convinced of the genuineness of the emotionwhich expressed itself in all this flamboyant behaviour. And shehad to make excuses to herself on behalf of Chirac. She smiled togive him pleasure. The hard commonsense in her might sneer, butindubitably she was the centre of a romantic episode. The balloondarkly swinging there! The men waiting! The secrecy of themission! And Chirac, bare-headed in the wind that was to whisk himaway, telling her in fatalistic accents that her image haddevastated his life, while envious aspirants watched theircolloquy! Yes, it was romantic. And she was beautiful! Her beautywas an active reality that went about the world playing tricks inspite of herself. The thoughts that passed through her mind werethe large, splendid thoughts of romance. And it was Chirac who hadaroused them! A real drama existed, then, triumphing over theaccidental absurdities and pettinesses of the situation. Her finalwords to Chirac were tender and encouraging.
He hurried back to the balloon, resuming his cap. He was receivedwith the respect due to one who comes fresh from conquest. He wassacred.
Sophia rejoined Carlier, who had withdrawn, and began to talk tohim with a self-conscious garrulity. She spoke without reason andscarcely noticed what she was saying. Already Chirac was snatchedout of her life, as other beings, so many of them, had beensnatched. She thought of their first meetings, and of the sympathywhich had always united them. He had lost his simplicity, now, inthe self-created crisis of his fate, and had sunk in her esteem.And she was determined to like him all the more because he hadsunk in her esteem. She wondered whether he really had undertakenthis adventure from sentimental disappointment. She wonderedwhether, if she had not forgotten to wind her watch one night,they would still have been living quietly under the same roof inthe Rue Breda.
The sailor climbed definitely into the car; he had covered himselfwith a large cloak. Chirac had got one leg over the side of thecar, and eight men were standing by the ropes, when a horse'shoofs clattered through the guarded entrance to the courtyard,amid an uproar of sudden excitement. The shiny chest of the horsewas flecked with the classic foam.
be brave. Governor of Paris!"that the activity of his role wasfinished, .
"A telegram from the Governor of Paris!"
his mount, approached the group, even theold man with the.
As the orderly, checking his mount, approached the group, even theold man with the watch raised his hat. The orderly responded, bentdown to make an inquiry, which Chirac answered, and then, withanother exchange of salutes, the official telegram was handed overto Chirac, and the horse backed away from the crowd. It was quitethrilling. Carlier was thrilled.
"He is never too prompt, the Governor. It is a quality!" saidCarlier, with irony.
Chirac entered the car. And then the old man with the watch drew ablack bag from the shadow behind him and entrusted it to Chirac,who accepted it with a profound deference and hid it. The sailorbegan to issue commands. The men at the ropes were bending downnow. Suddenly the balloon rose about a foot and trembled. Thesailor continued to shout. All the persons of authority gazedmotionless at the balloon. The moment of suspense was eternal.
"Let go all!" cried the sailor, standing up, and clinging to thecordage. Chirac was seated in the car, a mass of dark fur with asmall patch of white in it. The men at the ropes were a knot ofstruggling confused figures.
One side of the car tilted up, and the sailor was nearly pitchedout. Three men at the other side had failed to free the ropes.
"Let go, corpses!" the sailor yelled at them.
The balloon jumped, as if it were drawn by some terrific impulsefrom the skies.
"Adieu!" called Chirac, pulling his cap off and waving it."Adieu!"
"Bon voyage! Bon voyage!" the little crowd cheered. And then,"Vive la France!" Throats tightened, including Sophia's.
But the top of the balloon had leaned over, destroying its pear-shape, and the whole mass swerved violently towards the wall ofthe station, the car swinging under it like a toy, and an anchorunder the car. There was a cry of alarm. Then the great ballleaped again, and swept over the high glass roof, escaping byinches the spouting. The cheers expired instantly. ... The balloonwas gone. It was spirited away as if by some furious and mightypower that had grown impatient in waiting for it. There remainedfor a few seconds on the collective retina of the spectators avision of the inclined car swinging near the roof like the tail ofa kite. And then nothing! Blankness! Blackness! Already theballoon was lost to sight in the vast stormy ocean of the night, aplaything of the winds. The spectators became once more aware ofthe dull booming of the cannonade. The balloon was already perhapsflying unseen amid the wrack over those guns.
Sophia involuntarily caught her breath. A chill sense ofloneliness, of purposelessness, numbed her being.
Nobody ever saw Chirac or the old sailor again. The sea must haveswallowed them. Of the sixty-five balloons that left Paris duringthe siege, two were not heard of. This was the first of the two.Chirac had, at any rate, not magnified the peril, though hisintention was undoubtedly to magnify it.