老妇人的故事 英文版The Old Wives' Tale
阿诺德.本涅特 Arnold Bennett
II Page 1
The express from London was late, so that Constance had three-quarters of an hour of the stony calmness of Knype platform whenit is waiting for a great train. At last the porters began to cry,"Macclesfield, Stockport, and Manchester train;" the immenseengine glided round the curve, dwarfing the carriages behind it,and Constance had a supreme tremor. The calmness of the platformwas transformed into a melee. Little Constance found herself lefton the fringe of a physically agitated crowd which was apparentlytrying to scale a precipice surmounted by windows and doors fromwhose apertures looked forth defenders of the train. Knypeplatform seemed as if it would never be reduced to order again.And Constance did not estimate highly the chances of picking outan unknown Sophia from that welter. She was very seriouslyperturbed. All the muscles of her face were drawn as her gazewandered anxiously from end to end of the train.
Presently she saw a singular dog. Other people also saw it. It wasof the colour of chocolate; it had a head and shoulders richlycovered with hair that hung down in thousands of tufts like thetufts of a modern mop such as is bought in shops. This hairstopped suddenly rather less than halfway along the length of thedog's body, the remainder of which was naked and as smooth asmarble. The effect was to give to the inhabitants of the FiveTowns the impression that the dog had forgotten an essential partof its attire and was outraging decency. The ball of hair whichhad been allowed to grow on the dog's tail, and the circles ofhair which ornamented its ankles, only served to intensify theimpression of indecency. A pink ribbon round its neck completedthe outrage. The animal had absolutely the air of a deckedtrollop. A chain ran taut from the creature's neck into the middleof a small crowd of persons gesticulating over trunks, andConstance traced it to a tall and distinguished woman in a coatand skirt with a rather striking hat. A beautiful and aristocraticwoman, Constance thought, at a distance! Then the strange ideacame to her: "That's Sophia!" She was sure. ... She was not sure. ...She was sure. The woman emerged from the crowd. Her eye fellon Constance. They both hesitated, and, as it were, wavereduncertainly towards each other.
"I should have known you anywhere," said Sophia, with apparentlycareless tranquillity, as she stooped to kiss Constance, raisingher veil.
Constance saw that this marvellous tranquillity must be imitated,and she imitated it very well. It was a 'Baines' tranquillity. Butshe noticed a twitching of her sister's lips. The twitchingcomforted Constance, proving to her that she was not alone infoolishness. There was also something queer about the permanentlines of Sophia's mouth. That must be due to the 'attack' aboutwhich Sophia had written.
"Did Cyril meet you?" asked Constance. It was all that she couldthink of to say.
queer! It'sterrible how time flies."
"Oh yes!" said Sophia, eagerly. "And I went to his studio, and hesaw me off at Euston. He is a VERY nice boy. I love him."
She said 'I love him' with the intonation of Sophia aged fifteen.Her tone and imperious gesture sent Constance flying back to the'sixties. "She hasn't altered one bit," Constance thought withjoy. "Nothing could change Sophia." And at the back of that notionwas a more general notion: "Nothing could change a Baines." It wastrue that Constance's Sophia had not changed. Powerfulindividualities remain undisfigured by no matter whatvicissitudes. After this revelation of the original Sophia,arising as it did out of praise of Cyril, Constance felt easier,felt reassured.
"This is Fossette," said Sophia, pulling at the chain.
Constance knew not what to reply. Surely Sophia could not be awarewhat she did in bringing such a dog to a place where people wereso particular as they are in the Five Towns.
"Fossette!" She repeated the name in an endearing accent, halfstooping towards the dog. After all, it was not the dog's fault.Sophia had certainly mentioned a dog in her letters, but she hadnot prepared Constance for the spectacle of Fossette.
All that happened in a moment. A porter appeared with two trunksbelonging to Sophia. Constance observed that they weresuperlatively 'good' trunks; also that Sophia's clothes, though'on the showy side,' were superlatively 'good.' The getting ofSophia's ticket to Bursley occupied them next, and soon the firstshock of meeting had worn off.
window and looked out intothe Square.
In a second-class compartment of the Loop Line train, with Sophiaand Fossette opposite to her, Constance had leisure to 'take in'Sophia. She came to the conclusion that, despite her slendernessand straightness and the general effect of the long oval of herface under the hat, Sophia looked her age. She saw that Sophiamust have been through a great deal; her experiences weredamagingly printed in the details of feature. Seen at a distance,she might have passed for a woman of thirty, even for a girl, butseen across a narrow railway carriage she was a woman whomsuffering had aged. Yet obviously her spirit was unbroken. Hearher tell a doubtful porter that of course she should take Fossettewith her into the carriage! See her shut the carriage door withthe expressed intention of keeping other people out! She wasaccustomed to command. At the same time her face had an almost setsmile, as though she had said to herself: "I will die smiling."Constance felt sorry for her. While recognizing in Sophia asuperior in charm, in experience, in knowledge of the world and inforce of personality, she yet with a kind of undisturbed,fundamental superiority felt sorry for Sophia.
"What do you think?" said Sophia, absently fingering Fossette. "Aman came up to me at Euston, while Cyril was getting my ticket,and said, 'Eh, Miss Baines, I haven't seen ye for over thirtyyears, but I know you're Miss Baines, or WERE--and you're lookingbonny.' Then he went off. I think it must have been Holl, thegrocer."
"Had he got a long white beard?"
"Yes."
"Then it was Mr. Holl. He's been Mayor twice. He's an alderman,you know."
"Really!" said Sophia. "But wasn't it queer?"
"Eh! Bless us!" exclaimed Constance. "Don't talk about queer! It'sterrible how time flies."
The conversation stopped, and it refused to start again. Two womenwho are full of affectionate curiosity about each other, and whohave not seen each other for thirty years, and who are anxious toconfide in each other, ought to discover no difficulty in talking;but somehow these two could not talk. Constance perceived thatSophia was impeded by the same awkwardness as herself.
"Well I never!" cried Sophia, suddenly. She had glanced out of thewindow and had seen two camels and an elephant in a field close tothe line, amid manufactories and warehouses and advertisements ofsoap.
"Oh!" said Constance. "That's Barnum's, you know."
They have what they call a central depot here, because it's themiddle of England." Constance spoke proudly. (After all, there canbe only one middle.) It was on her tongue to say, in her 'tart'manner, that Fossette ought to be with the camels, but sherefrained. Sophia hit on the excellent idea of noting all thebuildings that were new to her and all the landmarks that sheremembered. It was surprising how little the district had altered.
"Same smoke!" said Sophia.
"Same smoke!" Constance agreed.
"It's even worse," said Sophia.
"Do you think so?" Constance was slightly piqued. "But they'redoing something now for smoke abatement."
"I must have forgotten how dirty it was!" said Sophia. "I supposethat's it. I'd no idea ...!"
"Really!" said Constance. Then, in candid admission, "The fact is,it is dirty. You can't imagine what work it makes, especially withwindow-curtains."
As the train puffed under Trafalgar Road, Constance pointed to anew station that was being built there, to be called 'TrafalgarRoad' station.
"Won't it be strange?" said she, accustomed to the eternalsequence of Loop Lane stations--Turnhill, Bursley, Bleakridge,Hanbridge, Cauldon, Knype, Trent Vale, and Longshaw. A 'TrafalgarRoad' inserting itself between Bleakridge and Hanbridge seemed toher excessively curious.
"Yes, I suppose it will," Sophia agreed.
"But of course it's not the same to you," said Constance, dashed.She indicated the glories of Bursley Park, as the train slackenedfor Bursley, with modesty. Sophia gazed, and vaguely recognizedthe slopes where she had taken her first walk with Gerald Scales.
Nobody accosted them at Bursley Station, and they drove to theSquare in a cab. Amy was at the window; she held up Spot, who wasin a plenary state of cleanliness, rivalling the purity of Amy'sapron.
"Good afternoon, m'm," said Amy, officiously, to Sophia, as Sophiacame up the steps.
"Good afternoon, Amy," Sophia replied. She flattered Amy in thusshowing that she was acquainted with her name; but if ever aservant was put into her place by mere tone, Amy was put into herplace on that occasion. Constance trembled at Sophia's frigid andarrogant politeness. Certainly Sophia was not used to beingaddressed first by servants. But Amy was not quite the ordinaryservant. She was much older than the ordinary servant, and she hadacquired a partial moral dominion over Constance, though Constancewould have warmly denied it. Hence Constance's apprehension.However, nothing happened. Amy apparently did not feel the snub.
"Take Spot and put him in Mr. Cyril's bedroom," Constance murmuredto her, as if implying: "Have I not already told you to do that?"The fact was, she was afraid for Spot's life.
"Now, Fossette!" She welcomed the incoming poodle kindly; thepoodle began at once to sniff.
The fat, red cabman was handling the trunks on the pavement, andAmy was upstairs. For a moment the sisters were alone together inthe parlour.
"So here I am!" exclaimed the tall, majestic woman of fifty. Andher lips twitched again as she looked round the room--so small toher.
"Yes, here you are!" Constance agreed. She bit her lip, and, as ameasure of prudence to avoid breaking down, she bustled out to thecabman. A passing instant of emotion, like a fleck of foam on awide and calm sea!
The cabman blundered up and downstairs with trunks, and salutedSophia's haughty generosity, and then there was quietness. Amy wasalready brewing the tea in the cave. The prepared tea-table infront of the fire made a glittering array.
"Now, what about Fossette?" Constance voiced anxieties that hadbeen growing on her.
"Fossette will be quite right with me," said Sophia, firmly.
They ascended to the guest's room, which drew Sophia's admirationfor its prettiness. She hurried to the window and looked out intothe Square.
"Would you like a fire?" Constance asked, in a rather perfunctorymanner. For a bedroom fire, in seasons of normal health, was stillregarded as absurd in the Square.
"Oh, no!" said Sophia; but with a slight failure to rebut thesuggestion as utterly ridiculous.
"Sure?" Constance questioned.
"Quite, thank you," said Sophia.
"Well, I'll leave you. I expect Amy will have tea ready directly."She went down into the kitchen. "Amy," she said, "as soon as we'vefinished tea, light a fire in Mrs. Scales's bedroom."
"In the top bedroom, m'm?"
"Yes."
Constance climbed again to her own bedroom, and shut the door. Sheneeded a moment to herself, in the midst of this terrific affair.She sighed with relief as she removed her mantle. She thought: "Atany rate we've met, and I've got her here. She's very nice. No,she isn't a bit altered." She hesitated to admit that to herSophia was the least in the world formidable. And so she said oncemore: "She's very nice. She isn't a bit altered." And then: "Fancyher being here! She really is here." With her perfect simplicityit did not occur to Constance to speculate as to what Sophiathought of her.
Sophia was downstairs first, and Constance found her looking atthe blank wall beyond the door leading to the kitchen steps.
"So this is where you had it bricked up?" said Sophia.
"Yes," said Constance. "That's the place."
"It makes me feel like people feel when they have tickling in alimb that's been cut off!" said Sophia.
"Oh, Sophia!"
The tea received a great deal of praise from Sophia, but neitherof them ate much. Constance found that Sophia was like herself:she had to be particular about her food. She tasted dainties forthe sake of tasting, but it was a bird's pecking. Not the twelfthpart of the tea was consumed. They dared not indulge caprices.Only their eyes could feed.
After tea they went up to the drawing-room, and in the corridorhad the startling pleasure of seeing two dogs who scurried aboutafter each other in amity. Spot had found Fossette, with the aidof Amy's incurable carelessness, and had at once examined her withgreat particularity. She seemed to be of an amiable disposition,and not averse from the lighter distractions. For a long time thesisters sat chatting together in the lit drawing-room to theagreeable sound of happy dogs playing in the dark corridor. Thosedogs saved the situation, because they needed constant attention.When the dogs dozed, the sisters began to look through photographalbums, of which Constance had several, bound in plush or morocco.Nothing will sharpen the memory, evoke the past, raise the dead,rejuvenate the ageing, and cause both sighs and smiles, like acollection of photographs gathered together during long years oflife. Constance had an astonishing menagerie of unknown cousinsand their connections, and of townspeople; she had Cyril at allages; she had weird daguerreotypes of her parents and theirparents. The strangest of all was a portrait of Samuel Povey as aninfant in arms. Sophia checked an impulse to laugh at it. But whenConstance said: "Isn't it funny?" she did allow herself to laugh.A photograph of Samuel in the year before his death was reallyimposing. Sophia stared at it, impressed. It was the portrait ofan honest man.
"How long have you been a widow?" Constance asked in a low voice,glancing at upright Sophia over her spectacles, a leaf of thealbum raised against her finger.
Sophia unmistakably flushed. "I don't know that I am a widow,"said she, with an air. "My husband left me in 1870, and I've neverseen nor heard of him since."
"Oh, my dear!" cried Constance, alarmed and deafened as by a clapof awful thunder. "I thought ye were a widow. Mr. Peel-Swynnertonsaid he was told positively ye were a widow. That's why I never. ..."She stopped. Her face was troubled.
"Of course I always passed for a widow, over there," said Sophia.
"Of course," said Constance quickly. "I see. ..."
"And I may be a widow," said Sophia.
Constance made no remark. This was a blow. Bursley was such aparticular place. Doubtless, Gerald Scales had behaved like ascoundrel. That was sure!
When, immediately afterwards, Amy opened the drawing-room door(having first knocked--the practice of encouraging a servant toplunge without warning of any kind into a drawing-room had neverbeen favoured in that house) she saw the sisters sitting rathernear to each other at the walnut oval table, Mrs. Scales veryupright, and staring into the fire, and Mrs. Povey 'bunched up'and staring at the photograph album; both seeming to Amy aged andapprehensive; Mrs. Povey's hair was quite grey, though Mrs.Scales' hair was nearly as black as Amy's own. Mrs. Scales startedat the sound of the knock, and turned her head.
"Here's Mr. and Mrs. Critchlow, m'm," announced Amy.
The sisters glanced at one another, with lifted foreheads. ThenMrs. Povey spoke to Amy as though visits at half-past eight atnight were a customary phenomenon of the household. Nevertheless,she trembled to think what outrageous thing Mr. Critchlow mightsay to Sophia after thirty years' absence. The occasion was great,and it might also be terrible.
"Ask them to come up," she said calmly.
But Amy had the best of that encounter. "I have done," shereplied, and instantly produced them out of the darkness of thecorridor. It was providential: the sisters had made no remark thatthe Critchlows might not hear.
Then Maria Critchlow, simpering, had to greet Sophia. Mrs.Critchlow was very agitated, from sheer nervousness. Shecurvetted; she almost pranced; and she made noises with her mouthas though she saw some one eating a sour apple. She wanted to showSophia how greatly she had changed from the young, timidapprentice. Certainly since her marriage she had changed. Asmanager of other people's business she had not felt the necessityof being effusive to customers, but as proprietress, anxiety tosucceed had dragged her out of her capable and mechanicalindifference. It was a pity. Her consistent dullness had had asort of dignity; but genial, she was merely ridiculous. Animationcruelly displayed her appalling commonness and physicalshabbiness. Sophia's demeanour was not chilly; but it indicatedthat Sophia had no wish to be eyed over as a freak of nature.
Mr. Critchlow advanced very slowly into the room. "Ye still carryyour head on a stiff neck," said he, deliberately examiningSophia. Then with great care he put out his long thin arm and tookher hand. "Well, I'm rare and glad to see ye!"
its prettiness. She hurried to the window.
Every one was thunderstruck at this expression of joy. Mr.Critchlow had never been known to be glad to see anybody.
"Yes," twittered Maria, "Mr. Critchlow would come in to-night.Nothing would do but he must come in to-night."
"You didn't tell me this afternoon," said Constance, "that youwere going to give us the pleasure of your company like this."
He looked momentarily at Constance. "No," he grated, "I don't knowas I did."
His gaze flattered Sophia. Evidently he treated this experiencedand sad woman of fifty as a young girl. And in presence of hisextreme age she felt like a young girl, remembering the while howas a young girl she had hated him. Repulsing the assistance of hiswife, he arranged an armchair in front of the fire andmeticulously put himself into it. Assuredly he was much older in adrawing-room than behind the counter of his shop. Constance hadnoticed that in the afternoon. A live coal fell out of the fire.He bent forward, wet his fingers, picked up the coal and threw itback into the fire.
"Well," said Sophia. "I wouldn't have done that."
"I never saw Mr. Critchlow's equal for picking up hot cinders,"Maria giggled.
Mr. Critchlow deigned no remark. "When did ye leave this Paris?"he demanded of Sophia, leaning back, and putting his hands on thearms of the chair.
"Yesterday morning," said Sophia,
"And what'n ye been doing with yeself since yesterday morning?"
"I spent last night in London," Sophia replied.
"Oh, in London, did ye?"
"Yes. Cyril and I had an evening together."
"Eh? Cyril! What's yer opinion o' Cyril, Sophia?"
"I'm very proud to have Cyril for a nephew," said Sophia.
"Oh! Are ye?" The old man was obviously ironic.
"Yes I am," Sophia insisted sharply. "I'm not going to hear a wordsaid against Cyril."
She proceeded to an enthusiastic laudation of Cyril which ratheroverwhelmed his mother. Constance was pleased; she was delighted.And yet somewhere in her mind was an uncomfortable feeling thatCyril, having taken a fancy to his brilliant aunt, had tried tocharm her as he seldom or never tried to charm his mother. Cyriland Sophia had dazzled and conquered each other; they were of thesame type; whereas she, Constance, being but a plain person, couldnot glitter.