老妇人的故事 英文版The Old Wives' Tale
阿诺德.本涅特 Arnold Bennett
IV
On the night when Matthew Peel-Swynnerton spoke to Mrs. Scales,Matthew was not the only person in the Pension Frensham who failedto sleep. When the old portress came downstairs from her errand,she observed that her mistress was leaving the mahogany retreat.
"She is sleeping tranquilly, the poor one!" said the portress,discharging her commission, which had been to learn the latestnews of the mistress's indisposed dog, Fossette. In saying thisher ancient, vibrant voice was rich with sympathy for thesuffering animal. And she smiled. She was rather like a figure outof an almshouse, with her pink, apparently brittle skin, her tightblack dress, and frilled white cap. She stooped habitually, andalways walked quickly, with her head a few inches in advance ofher feet. Her grey hair was scanty. She was old; nobody perhapsknew exactly how old. Sophia had taken her with the Pension, overa quarter of a century before, because she was old and could noteasily have found another place. Although the clientele was almostexclusively English, she spoke only French, explaining herself toBritons by means of benevolent smiles.
"I think I shall go to bed, Jacqueline," said the mistress, inreply.
A strange reply, thought Jacqueline. The unalterable custom ofJacqueline was to retire at midnight and to rise at five-thirty.Her mistress also usually retired about midnight, and during thefinal hour mistress and portress saw a good deal of each other.And considering that Jacqueline had just been sent up into themistress's own bedroom to glance at Fossette, and that thebulletin was satisfactory, and that madame and Jacqueline hadseveral customary daily matters to discuss, it seemed odd thatmadame should thus be going instantly to bed. However, Jacquelinesaid nothing but:
herself, that she could depend on no one?Were she to be absent even for a single !
"Very well, madame. And the number 32?"
"Arrange yourself as you can," said the mistress, curtly.
"It is well, madame. Good evening, madame, and a good night."
Jacqueline, alone in the hall, re-entered her box and set upon oneof those endless, mysterious tasks which occupied her when she wasnot rushing to and fro or whistling up the tubes.
Sophia, scarcely troubling even to glance into Fossette's roundbasket, undressed, put out the light, and got into bed. She feltextremely and inexplicably gloomy. She did not wish to reflect;she strongly wished not to reflect; but her mind insisted onreflection--a monotonous, futile, and distressing reflection.Povey! Povey! Could this be Constance's Povey, the unique SamuelPovey? That is to say, not he, but his son, Constance's son. HadConstance a grown-up son? Constance must be over fifty now,perhaps a grandmother! Had she really married Samuel Povey?Possibly she was dead. Certainly her mother must be dead, and AuntHarriet and Mr. Critchlow. If alive, her mother must be at leasteighty years of age.
Of course there was nothing to prevent her from going back toBursley and repairing the grand error of her girlhood. No, nothingexcept the fact that her whole soul recoiled from the mere idea ofany such enterprise! She was a fixture in the Rue Lord Byron. Shewas a part of the street. She knew all that happened or couldhappen there. She was attached to it by the heavy chains of habit.In the chill way of long use she loved it. There! The incandescentgas-burner of the street-lamp outside had been turned down, as itwas turned down every night! If it is possible to love such aphenomenon, she loved that phenomenon. That phenomenon was aportion of her life, dear to her.
An agreeable young man, that Peel-Swynnerton! Then evidently,since her days in Bursley, the Peels and the Swynnertons, partnersin business, must have intermarried, or there must have been someaffair of a will. Did he suspect who she was? He had had a veryself-conscious, guilty look. No! He could not have suspected whoshe was. The idea was ridiculous. Probably he did not even knowthat her name was Scales. And even if he knew her name, he hadprobably never heard of Gerald Scales, or the story of her flight.Why, he could not have been born until after she had left Bursley!Besides, the Peels were always quite aloof from the ordinarysocial life of the town. No! He could not have suspected heridentity. It was infantile to conceive such a thing.
And yet, she inconsequently proceeded in the tangle of herafflicted mind, supposing he had suspected it! Supposing by somequeer chance, he had heard her forgotten story, and casually puttwo and two together! Supposing even that he were merely tomention in the Five Towns that the Pension Frensham was kept by aMrs. Scales. 'Scales? Scales?' people might repeat. 'Now, whatdoes that remind me of?' And the ball might roll and roll tillConstance or somebody picked it up! And then ...
Moreover--a detail of which she had at first unaccountably failedto mark the significance--this Peel-Swynnerton was a friend of theMr. Povey as to whom he had inquired. In that case it could not bethe same Povey. Impossible that the Peels should be on terms offriendship with Samuel Povey or his connections! But supposingafter all they were! Supposing something utterly unanticipated andrevolutionary had happened in the Five Towns!
She was disturbed. She was insecure. She foresaw inquiries beingmade concerning her. She foresaw an immense family fuss, endlesstomfoolery, the upsetting of her existence, the destruction of hercalm. And she sank away from that prospect. She could not face it.She did not want to face it. "No," she cried passionately in hersoul, "I've lived alone, and I'll stay as I am. I can't change atmy time of life." And her attitude towards a possible invasion ofher solitude became one of resentment. "I won't have it! I won'thave it! I will be left alone. Constance! What can Constance be tome, or I to her, now?" The vision of any change in her existencewas in the highest degree painful to her. And not only painful! Itfrightened her. It made her shrink. But she could not dismiss it.... She could not argue herself out of it. The apparition ofMatthew Peel-Swynnerton had somehow altered the very stuff of herfibres.
And surging on the outskirts of the central storm of her brainwere ten thousand apprehensions about the management of thePension. All was black, hopeless. The Pension might have been themost complete business failure that gross carelessness andincapacity had ever provoked. Was it not the fact that she had tosupervise everything herself, that she could depend on no one?Were she to be absent even for a single day the entire structurewould inevitably fall. Instead of working less she worked harder.And who could guarantee that her investments were safe?
When dawn announced itself, slowly discovering each object in thechamber, she was ill. Fever seemed to rage in her head. And in andround her mouth she had strange sensations. Fossette stirred inthe basket near the large desk on which multifarious files andpapers were ranged with minute particularity.
"Fossette!" she tried to call out; but no sound issued from herlips. She could not move her tongue. She tried to protrude it, andcould not. For hours she had been conscious of a headache. Herheart sank. She was sick with fear. Her memory flashed to herfather and his seizure. She was his daughter! Paralysis! "Caserait le comble!" she thought in French, horrified. Her fearbecame abject! "Can I move at all?" she thought, and madly jerkedher head. Yes, she could move her head slightly on the pillow, andshe could stretch her right arm, both arms. Absurd cowardice! Ofcourse it was not a seizure! She reassured herself. Still, shecould not put her tongue out. Suddenly she began to hiccough, andshe had no control over the hiccough. She put her hand to thebell, whose ringing would summon the man who slept in a pantry offthe hall, and suddenly the hiccough ceased. Her hand dropped. Shewas better. Besides, what use in ringing for a man if she couldnot speak to him through the door? She must wait for Jacqueline.At six o'clock every morning, summer and winter, Jacquelineentered her mistress's bedroom to release the dog for a moment'sairing under her own supervision. The clock on the mantelpieceshowed five minutes past three. She had three hours to wait.Fossette pattered across the room, and sprang on to the bed andnestled down. Sophia ignored her, but Fossette, being herselfunwell and torpid, did not seem to care.
Jacqueline was late. In the quarter of an hour between six o'clockand a quarter past, Sophia suffered the supreme pangs of despairand verged upon insanity. It appeared to her that her craniumwould blow off under pressure from within. Then the door openedsilently, a few inches. Usually Jacqueline came into the room, butsometimes she stood behind the door and called in her soft,trembling voice, "Fossette! Fossette!" And on this morning she didnot come into the room. The dog did not immediately respond.Sophia was in an agony. She marshalled all her volition, all herself-control and strength, to shout:
"Jacqueline!"
It came out of her, a horribly difficult and misshapen birth, butit came. She was exhausted.
"Yes, madame." Jacqueline entered.
As soon as she had a glimpse of Sophia she threw up her hands.Sophia stared at her, wordless.
"I will fetch the doctor--myself," whispered Jacqueline, and fled.
"Jacqueline!" The woman stopped. Then Sophia determined to forceherself to make a speech, and she braced her muscles to anunprecedented effort. "Say not a word to the others." She couldnot bear that the whole household should know of her illness.Jacqueline nodded and vanished, the dog following. Jacquelineunderstood. She lived in the place with her mistress as with afellow-conspirator.
Sophia began to feel better. She could get into a sitting posture,though the movement made her dizzy. By working to the foot of thebed she could see herself in the glass of the wardrobe. And shesaw that the lower part of her face was twisted out of shape.
The doctor, who knew her, and who earned a lot of money in herhouse, told her frankly what had happened. Paralysie glosso-labio-laryngee was the phrase he used. She understood. A very slightattack; due to overwork and worry. He ordered absolute rest andquiet.
"Impossible!" she said, genuinely convinced that she alone wasindispensable.
"Repose the most absolute!" he repeated.
She marvelled that a few words with a man who chanced to be namedPeel-Swynnerton could have resulted in such a disaster, and drew acurious satisfaction from this fearful proof that she was sohighly-strung. But even then she did not realize how profoundlyshe had been disturbed.