老妇人的故事 英文版The Old Wives' Tale
阿诺德.本涅特 Arnold Bennett
I
SOPHIA wore list slippers in the morning. It was a habit which shehad formed in the Rue Lord Byron--by accident rather than with anintention to utilize list slippers for the effective supervisionof servants. These list slippers were the immediate cause ofimportant happenings in St. Luke's Square. Sophia had been withConstance one calendar month--it was, of course, astonishing howquickly the time had passed!--and she had become familiar with thehouse. Restraint had gradually ceased to mark the relations of thesisters. Constance, in particular, hid nothing from Sophia, whowas made aware of the minor and major defects of Amy and all theother creakings of the household machine. Meals were eaten off theordinary tablecloths, and on the days for 'turning out' theparlour, Constance assumed, with a little laugh, that Sophia wouldexcuse Amy's apron, which she had not had time to change. Inbrief, Sophia was no longer a stranger, and nobody felt bound topretend that things were not exactly what they were. In spite ofthe foulness and the provinciality of Bursley, Sophia enjoyed theintimacy with Constance. As for Constance, she was enchanted. Theinflections of their voices, when they were talking to each othervery privately, were often tender, and these sudden surprisingtendernesses secretly thrilled both of them.
On the fourth Sunday morning Sophia put on her dressing-gown andthose list slippers very early, and paid a visit to Constance'sbedroom. She was somewhat concerned about Constance, and herconcern was pleasurable to her. She made the most of it. Amy, withher lifelong carelessness about doors, had criminally failed tolatch the street-door of the parlour on the previous morning, andConstance had only perceived the omission by the phenomenon offrigidity in her legs at breakfast. She always sat with her backto the door, in her mother's fluted rocking-chair; and Sophia onthe spot, but not in the chair, occupied by John Baines in theforties, and in the seventies and later by Samuel Povey. Constancehad been alarmed by that frigidity. "I shall have a return of mysciatica!" she had exclaimed, and Sophia was startled by theapprehension in her tone. Before evening the sciatica had indeedrevisited Constance's sciatic nerve, and Sophia for the first timegained an idea of what a pulsating sciatica can do in the way oftorturing its victim. Constance, in addition to the sciatica, hadcaught a sneezing cold, and the act of sneezing caused her themost acute pain. Sophia had soon stopped the sneezing. Constancewas got to bed. Sophia wished to summon the doctor, but Constanceassured her that the doctor would have nothing new to advise.Constance suffered angelically. The weak and exquisite sweetnessof her smile, as she lay in bed under the stress of twinging painamid hot-water bottles, was amazing to Sophia. It made her thinkupon the reserves of Constance's character, and upon the varietyof the manifestations of the Baines' blood.
So on the Sunday morning she had arisen early, just after Amy.
She discovered Constance to be a little better, as regards theneuralgia, but exhausted by the torments of a sleepless night.Sophia, though she had herself not slept well, felt somehowconscience-stricken for having slept at all.
"You poor dear!" she murmured, brimming with sympathy. "I shallmake you some tea at once, myself."
"Oh, Amy will do it," said Constance.
Sophia repeated with a resolute intonation: "I shall make itmyself." And after being satisfied that there was no instant needfor a renewal of hot-water bottles, she went further downstairs inthose list slippers.
Sophia coughed, and entered the kitchen.
Spot was lapping his morning milk out of a saucer, while Fossettestood wistfully, an amorphous mass of thick hair, under the table.
"Good morning, Amy," said Sophia, with dreadful politeness.
"Good morning, m'm," said Amy, glumly.
Amy knew that Sophia had heard that yelp, and Sophia knew that sheknew. The pretence of politeness was horrible. Both the women feltas though the kitchen was sanded with gunpowder and there werelighted matches about. Sophia had a very proper grievance againstAmy on account of the open door of the previous day. Sophiathought that, after such a sin, the least Amy could do was to showcontrition and amiability and an anxiety to please: which thingsAmy had not shown. Amy had a grievance against Sophia becauseSophia had recently thrust upon her a fresh method of cookinggreen vegetables. Amy was a strong opponent of new or foreignmethods. Sophia was not aware of this grievance, for Amy hadhidden it under her customary cringing politeness to Sophia.
They surveyed each other like opposing armies.
"What a pity you have no gas-stove here! I want to make some teaat once for Mrs. Povey," said Sophia, inspecting the just-bornfire.
"Gas-stove, m'm?" said Amy, hostilely. It was Sophia's listslippers which had finally decided Amy to drop the mask ofdeference.
She made no effort to aid Sophia; she gave no indication as towhere the various necessaries for tea were to be found. Sophia gotthe kettle, and washed it out. Sophia got the smallest tea-pot,and, as the tea-leaves had been left in it, she washed out theteapot also, with exaggerated noise and meticulousness. Sophia gotthe sugar and the other trifles, and Sophia blew up the fire withthe bellows. And Amy did nothing in particular except encourageSpot to drink.
"Is that all the milk you give to Fossette?" Sophia demandedcoldly, when it had come to Fossette's turn. She was waiting forthe water to boil. The saucer for the bigger dog, who would havemade two of Spot, was not half full.
"It's all there is to spare, m'm," Amy rasped.
Sophia made no reply. Soon afterwards she departed, with the teasuccessfully made. If Amy had not been a mature woman of overforty she would have snorted as Sophia went away. But Amy wasscarcely the ordinary silly girl.
Save for a certain primness as she offered the tray to her sister,Sophia's demeanour gave no sign whatever that the Amazon in herwas aroused. Constance's eager trembling pleasure in the teatouched her deeply, and she was exceedingly thankful thatConstance had her, Sophia, as a succour in time of distress.
A few minutes later, Constance, having first asked Sophia whattime it was by the watch in the watch-case on the chest of drawers(the Swiss clock had long since ceased to work), pulled the redtassel of the bell-cord over her bed. A bell tinkled far away inthe kitchen.
"Anything I can do?" Sophia inquired.
"Oh no, thanks," said Constance. "I only want my letters, if thepostman has come. He ought to have been here long ago." Sophia hadlearned during her stay that Sunday morning was the morning onwhich Constance expected a letter from Cyril. It was a definitearrangement between mother and son that Cyril should write onSaturdays, and Constance on Sundays. Sophia knew that Constanceset store by this letter, becoming more and more preoccupied aboutCyril as the end of the week approached. Since Sophia's arrivalCyril's letter had not failed to come, but once it had been naughtsave a scribbled line or two, and Sophia gathered that it wasnever a certainty, and that Constance was accustomed, though notreconciled, to disappointments. Sophia had been allowed to readthe letters. They left a faint impression on her mind that herfavourite was perhaps somewhat negligent in his relations with hismother.
There was no reply to the bell. Constance rang again withouteffect.
With a brusque movement Sophia left the bedroom by way of Cyril'sroom.
"Amy," she called over the banisters, "do you not hear yourmistress's bell?"
"I'm coming as quick as I can, m'm." The voice was still veryglum.
Sophia murmured something inarticulate, staying till assured thatAmy really was coming, and then she passed back into Cyril'sbedroom. She waited there, hesitant, not exactly on the watch, notexactly unwilling to assist at an interview between Amy and Amy'smistress; indeed, she could not have surely analyzed her motivefor remaining in Cyril's bedroom, with the door ajar between thatroom and Constance's.
Amy reluctantly mounted the stairs and went into her mistress'sbedroom with her chin in the air. She thought that Sophia had goneup to the second storey, where she 'belonged.' She stood insilence by the bed, showing no sympathy with Constance, nocuriosity as to the indisposition. She objected to Constance'sattack of sciatica, as being a too permanent reproof of hercarelessness as to doors.
Constance also waited, for the fraction of a second, as ifexpectant.
"Well, Amy," she said at length in her voice weakened by fatigueand pain. "The letters?"
"There ain't no letters," said Amy, grimly. "You might have known,if there'd been any, I should have brought 'em up. Postman wentpast twenty minutes agone. I'm always being interrupted, and itisn't as if I hadn't got enough to do--now!"
She turned to leave, and was pulling the door open.
"Amy!" said a voice sharply. It was Sophia's.
The servant jumped, and in spite of herself obeyed the implicit,imperious command to stop.
"You will please not speak to your mistress in that tone, at anyrate while I'm here," said Sophia, icily. "You know she is ill andweak. You ought to be ashamed of yourself."
"I never---" Amy began.
"I don't want to argue," Sophia said angrily. "Please leave theroom."
Amy obeyed. She was cowed, in addition to being staggered.
To the persons involved in it, this episode was intenselydramatic. Sophia had surmised that Constance permitted libertiesof speech to Amy; she had even guessed that Amy sometimes tooklicence to be rude. But that the relations between them were suchas to allow the bullying of Constance by an Amy downrightinsolent--this had shocked and wounded Sophia, who suddenly had avision of Constance as the victim of a reign of terror. "If thecreature will do this while I'm here," said Sophia to herself,"what does she do when they are alone together in the house?"
"Well," she exclaimed, "I never heard of such goings-on! And youlet her talk to you in that style! My dear Constance!"
Constance was sitting up in bed, the small tea-tray on her knees.Her eyes were moist. The tears had filled them when she knew thatthere was no letter. Ordinarily the failure of Cyril's letterwould not have made her cry, but weakness had impaired her self-control. And the tears having once got into her eyes, she couldnot dismiss them. There they were!
"She's been with me such a long time," Constance murmured. "Shetakes liberties. I've corrected her once or twice."
you knew the posts in France,
"Liberties!" Sophia repeated the word. "Liberties!"
"Well," said Sophia, rather relieved by this symptom ofConstance's secret mind, "I do hope you won't think I'mmeddlesome, but truly it was too much for me. The words were outof my mouth before I----" She stopped.
"You were quite right, quite right," said Constance, seeing beforeher in the woman of fifty the passionate girl of fifteen.
"I've had a good deal of experience of servants," said Sophia.
"I know you have," Constance put in.
"And I'm convinced that it never pays to stand any sauce. Servantsdon't understand kindness and forbearance. And this sort of thinggrows and grows till you can't call your soul your own."
"You are quite right," Constance said again, with even morepositiveness.
Not merely the conviction that Sophia was quite right, but thedesire to assure Sophia that Sophia was not meddlesome, gave forceto her utterance. Amy's allusion to extra work shamed Amy'smistress as a hostess, and she was bound to make amends.
"Now as to that woman," said Sophia in a lower voice, as she satdown confidentially on the edge of the bed. And she told Constanceabout Amy and the dogs, and about Amy's rudeness in the kitchen."I should never have DREAMT of mentioning such things," shefinished. "But under the circumstances I feel it right that youshould know. I feel you ought to know."
And Constance nodded her head in thorough agreement. She did nottrouble to go into articulate apologies to her guest for theactual misdeeds of her servant. The sisters were now on a plane ofintimacy where such apologies would have been supererogatory.Their voices fell lower and lower, and the case of Amy was laidbare and discussed to the minutest detail.
Gradually they realized that what had occurred was a crisis. Theywere both very excited, apprehensive, and rather too consciouslydefiant. At the same time they were drawn very close to eachother, by Sophia's generous indignation and by Constance'sabsolute loyalty.
A long time passed before Constance said, thinking about somethingelse:
"I expect it's been delayed in the post."
"Cyril's letter? Oh, no doubt! If you knew the posts in France, myword!"
Then they determined, with little sighs, to face the crisischeerfully.
In truth it was a crisis, and a great one. The sensation of thecrisis affected the atmosphere of the entire house. Constance gotup for tea and managed to walk to the drawing-room. And whenSophia, after an absence in her own room, came down to tea andfound the tea all served, Constance whispered:
"She's given notice! And Sunday too!"
"What did she say?"
"She didn't say much," Constance replied vaguely, hiding fromSophia that Amy had harped on the too great profusion ofmistresses in that house. "After all, it's just as well. She'll beall right. She's saved a good bit of money, and she has friends."
"But how foolish of her to give up such a good place!"
"She simply doesn't care," said Constance, who was a little hurtby Amy's defection. "When she takes a thing into her head shesimply doesn't care. She's got no common sense. I've always knownthat."
"So you're going to leave, Amy?" said Sophia that evening, as Amywas passing through the parlour on her way to bed. Constance wasalready arranged for the night.
"I am, m'm," answered Amy, precisely.
Her tone was not rude, but it was firm. She had apparentlyreconnoitred her position in calmness.
"I'm sorry I was obliged to correct you this morning," saidSophia, with cheerful amicableness, pleased in spite of herselfwith the woman's tone. "But I think you will see that I had reasonto."
"I've been thinking it over, m'm," said Amy, with dignity, "and Isee as I must leave."
There was a pause.
"Well, you know best. ... Good night, Amy."
"Good night, m'm."
"She's a decent woman," thought Sophia, "but hopeless for thisplace now."
The sisters were fronted with the fact that Constance had a monthin which to find a new servant, and that a new servant would haveto be trained in well-doing and might easily prove disastrous.Both Constance and Amy were profoundly disturbed by theprospective dissolution of a bond which dated from the seventies.And both were decided that there was no alternative to thedissolution. Outsiders knew merely that Mrs. Povey's old servantwas leaving. Outsiders merely saw Mrs. Povey's advertisement inthe Signal for a new servant. They could not read hearts. Some ofthe younger generation even said superiorly that old-fashionedwomen like Mrs. Povey seemed to have servants on the brain, etc.,etc.