老妇人的故事 英文版The Old Wives' Tale
阿诺德.本涅特 Arnold Bennett
II
"Well, have you got your letter?" Sophia demanded cheerfully ofConstance when she entered the bedroom the next morning.
Constance merely shook her head. She was very depressed. Sophia'scheerfulness died out. As she hated to be insincerely optimistic,she said nothing. Otherwise she might have remarked: "Perhaps theafternoon post will bring it." Gloom reigned. To Constanceparticularly, as Amy had given notice and as Cyril was 'remiss,'it seemed really that the time was out of joint and life unworthliving. Even the presence of Sophia did not bring her muchcomfort. Immediately Sophia left the room Constance's sciaticabegan to return, and in a severe form. She had regretted this,less for the pain than because she had just assured Sophia, quitehonestly, that she was not suffering; Sophia had been sceptical.After that it was of course imperative that Constance should getup as usual. She had said that she would get up as usual. Besides,there was the immense enterprise of obtaining a new servant!Worries loomed mountainous. Suppose Cyril were dangerously ill,and unable to write! Suppose something had happened to him!Supposing she never did obtain a new servant!
Sophia, up in her room, was endeavouring to be philosophical, andto see the world brightly. She was saying to herself that she musttake Constance in hand, that what Constance lacked was energy,that Constance must be stirred out of her groove. And in thecavernous kitchen Amy, preparing the nine-o'clock breakfast, wasmeditating upon the ingratitude of employers and wondering whatthe future held for her. She had a widowed mother in thepicturesque village of Sneyd, where the mortal and immortalwelfare of every inhabitant was watched over by God's vicegerent,the busy Countess of Chell; she possessed about two hundred poundsof her own; her mother for years had been begging Amy to share herhome free of expense. But nevertheless Amy's mind was black withforeboding and vague dejection. The house was a house of sorrow,and these three women, each solitary, the devotees of sorrow. Andthe two dogs wandered disconsolate up and down, aware of thenecessity for circumspection, never guessing that the highlypeculiar state of the atmosphere had been brought about by nothingbut a half-shut door and an incorrect tone.
As Sophia, fully dressed this time, was descending to breakfast,she heard Constance's voice, feebly calling her, and found theconvalescent still in bed. The truth could not be concealed.Constance was once more in great pain, and her moral condition wasnot favourable to fortitude.
"I wish you had told me, to begin with," Sophia could not helpsaying, "then I should have known what to do."
Constance did not defend herself by saying that the pain had onlyrecurred since their first interview that morning. She just wept.
"I'm very low!" she blubbered.
Sophia was surprised. She felt that this was not 'being a Baines.'
During the progress of that interminable April morning, heracquaintance with the possibilities of sciatica as an agentdestructive of moral fibre was further increased. Constance had noforce at all to resist its activity. The sweetness of herresignation seemed to melt into nullity. She held to it that thedoctor could do nothing for her.
About noon, when Sophia was moving anxiously around her, shesuddenly screamed.
"I feel as if my leg was going to burst!" she cried.
That decided Sophia. As soon as Constance was a little easier shewent downstairs to Amy.
"Amy," she said, "it's a Doctor Stirling that your mistress haswhen she's ill, isn't it?"
"Yes, m'm."
"Where is his surgery?"
"Well, m'm, he did live just opposite, with Dr. Harrop, butlatterly he's gone to live at Bleakridge."
"I wish you would put your things on, and run up there and ask himto call as soon as he can."
"I will, m'm," said Amy, with the greatest willingness. "I thoughtI heard missis cry out." She was not effusive. She was better thaneffusive: kindly and helpful with a certain reserve.
"There's something about that woman I like," said Sophia, toherself. For a proved fool, Amy was indeed holding her own ratherwell.
The immediate effect of his arrival on Constance was miraculous.His presence almost cured her for a moment, just as though hermalady had been toothache and he a dentist. Then, when he hadfinished his examination, the pain resumed its sway over her.
In talking to her and to Sophia, he listened very seriously to allthat they said; he seemed to regard the case as the one case thathad ever aroused his genuine professional interest; but as itunfolded itself, in all its difficulty and urgency, so he seemed,in his mind, to be discovering wondrous ways of dealing with it;these mysterious discoveries seemed to give him confidence, andhis confidence was communicated to the patient by means of faintsallies of humour. He was a highly skilled doctor. This fact,however, had no share in his popularity; which was due solely tohis rare gift of taking a case very seriously while remainingcheerful.
He said he would return in a quarter of an hour, and he returnedin thirteen minutes with a hypodermic syringe, with which heattacked the pain in its central strongholds.
"What is it?" asked Constance, breathing gratitude for the relief.
He paused, looking at her roguishly from under lowered eyelids.
"I'd better not tell ye," he said. "It might lead ye intomischief."
"Oh, but you must tell me, doctor," Constance insisted, anxiousthat he should live up to his reputation for Sophia's benefit.
"It's hydrochloride of cocaine," he said, and lifted a finger."Beware of the cocaine habit. It's ruined many a respectablefamily. But if I hadn't had a certain amount of confidence in yerstrength of character, Mrs. Povey, I wouldn't have risked it."
"He will have his joke, will the doctor!" Constance smiled, in abrighter world.
He said he should come again about half-past five, and he arrivedabout half-past six, and injected more cocaine. The specialimportance of the case was thereby established. On this secondvisit, he and Sophia soon grew rather friendly. When she conductedhim downstairs again he stopped chatting with her in the parlourfor a long time, as though he had nothing else on earth to do,while his coachman walked the horse to and fro in front of thedoor.
His attitude to her flattered Sophia, for it showed that he tookher for no ordinary woman. It implied a continual assumption thatshe must be a mine of interest for any one who was privileged todelve into her memory. So far, among Constance's acquaintance,Sophia had met no one who showed more than a perfunctory curiosityas to her life. Her return was accepted with indifference. Herescapade of thirty years ago had entirely lost its dramaticquality. Many people indeed had never heard that she had run awayfrom home to marry a commercial traveller; and to those whoremembered, or had been told, it seemed a sufficiently banalexploit--after thirty years! Her fear, and Constance's, that thetown would be murmurous with gossip was ludicrously unfounded. Theeffect of time was such that even Mr. Critchlow appeared to haveforgotten even that she had been indirectly responsible for herfather's death. She had nearly forgotten it herself; when shehappened to think of it she felt no shame, no remorse, seeing thedeath as purely accidental, and not altogether unfortunate. On twopoints only was the town inquisitive: as to her husband, and as tothe precise figure at which she had sold the pension. The townknew that she was probably not a widow, for she had been obligedto tell Mr. Critchlow, and Mr. Critchlow in some hour oftenderness had told Maria. But nobody had dared to mention thename of Gerald Scales to her. With her fashionable clothes, herstriking mien of command, and the legend of her wealth, sheinspired respect, if not awe, in the townsfolk. In the doctor'sattitude there was something of amaze; she felt it. Though thedull apathy of the people she had hitherto met was assuredly notwithout its advantageous side for her tranquillity of mind, it hadtouched her vanity, and the gaze of the doctor soothed the smart.He had so obviously divined her interestingness; he so obviouslywanted to enjoy it.
"I've just been reading Zola's 'Downfall,'" he said.
Her mind searched backwards, and recalled a poster.
"Oh!" she replied. "'La Debacle'?"
"Yes. What do ye think of it?" His eyes lighted at the prospect ofa talk. He was even pleased to hear her give him the title inFrench.
"I haven't read it," she said, and she was momentarily sorry thatshe had not read it, for she could see that he was dashed. Thedoctor had supposed that residence in a foreign country involved aknowledge of the literature of that country. Yet he had neversupposed that residence in England involved a knowledge of Englishliterature. Sophia had read practically nothing since 1870; forher the latest author was Cherbuliez. Moreover, her impression ofZola was that he was not at all nice, and that he was the enemy ofhis race, though at that date the world had scarcely heard ofDreyfus. Dr. Stirling had too hastily assumed that the opinions ofthe bourgeois upon art differ in different countries.
"And ye actually were in the siege of Paris?" he questioned,trying again.
"Yes."
"AND the commune?"
"Yes, the commune too."
"Well!" he exclaimed. "It's incredible! When I was reading the'Downfall' the night before last, I said to myself that you musthave been through a lot of all that. I didn't know I was going tohave the pleasure of a chat with ye so soon."
She smiled. "But how did you know I was in the siege of Paris?"she asked, curious.
"How do I know? I know because I've seen that birthday card yesent to Mrs. Povey in 1871, after it was over. It's one of herpossessions, that card is. She showed it me one day when she toldme ye were coming."
Sophia started. She had quite forgotten that card. It had notoccurred to her that Constance would have treasured all thosecards that she had despatched during the early years of her exile.She responded as well as she could to his eagerness for personaldetails concerning the siege and the commune. He might have beendisappointed at the prose of her answers, had he not beendetermined not to be disappointed.
"Ye seem to have taken it all very quietly," he observed.
"Eh yes!" she agreed, not without pride. "But it's a long timesince."
Those events, as they existed in her memory, scarcely warrantedthe tremendous fuss subsequently made about them. What were they,after all? Such was her secret thought. Chirac himself was nownothing but a faint shadow. Still, were the estimate of thoseevents true or false, she was a woman who had been through them,and Dr. Stirling's high appreciation of that fact was verypleasant to her. Their friendliness approached intimacy. Night hadfallen. Outside could be heard the champing of a bit.
"I must be getting on," he said at last; but he did not move.
"Then there is nothing else I am to do for my sister?" Sophiainquired.
"I don't think so," said he. "It isn't a question of medicine."
"Then what is it a question of?" Sophia demanded bluntly.
"Nerves," he said. "It's nearly all nerves. I know something aboutMrs. Povey's constitution now, and I was hoping that your visitwould do her good."
"She's been quite well--I mean what you may call quite well--untilthe day before yesterday, when she sat in that draught. She wasbetter last night, and then this morning I find her ever so muchworse."
"No worries?" The doctor looked at her confidentially.
"What CAN she have in the way of worries?" exclaimed Sophia."That's to say--real worries."
"Exactly!" the doctor agreed.
"I tell her she doesn't know what worry is," said Sophia.
"So do I!" said the doctor, his eyes twinkling.
"She was a little upset because she didn't receive her usualSunday letter from Cyril yesterday. But then she was weak andlow."
"Clever youth, Cyril!" mused the doctor.
"I think he's a particularly nice boy," said Sophia, eagerly,
"So you've seen him?"
"Of course," said Sophia, rather stiffly. Did the doctor supposethat she did not know her own nephew? She went back to the subjectof her sister. "She is also a little bothered, I think, becausethe servant is going to leave."
"Oh! So Amy is going to leave, is she?" He spoke still lower."Between you and me, it's no bad thing."
"I'm so glad you think so."
"In another few years the servant would have been the mistresshere. One can see these things coming on, but it's so difficult todo anything. In fact ye can't do anything."
"I did something," said Sophia, sharply. "I told the womanstraight that it shouldn't go on while I was in the house. Ididn't suspect it at first--but when I found it out ... I can tellyou!" She let the doctor imagine what she could tell him.
He smiled. "No," he said. "I can easily understand that ye didn'tsuspect anything at first. When she's well and bright Mrs. Poveycould hold her own--so I'm told. But it was certainly slowlygetting worse."
"Then people talk about it?" said Sophia, shocked.
"As a native of Bursley, Mrs. Scales," said the doctor, "ye oughtto know what people in Bursley do!" Sophia put her lips together.The doctor rose, smoothing his waistcoat. "What does she botherwith servants at all for?" he burst out. "She's perfectly free.She hasn't got a care in the world, if she only knew it. Whydoesn't she go out and about, and enjoy herself? She wantsstirring up, that's what your sister wants."
"You're quite right," Sophia burst out in her turn. "That'sprecisely what I say to myself; precisely! I was thinking it overonly this morning. She wants stirring up. She's got into a rut."
"She needs to be jolly. Why doesn't she go to some seaside place,and live in a hotel, and enjoy herself? Is there anything toprevent her?"
"Nothing whatever."
"Instead of being dependent on a servant! I believe in enjoyingone's self--when ye've got the money to do it with! Can ye imagineanybody living in Bursley, for pleasure? And especially in St.Luke's Square, right in the thick of it all! Smoke! Dirt! No air!No light! No scenery! No amusements! What does she do it for?She's in a rut."
"Yes, she's in a rut," Sophia repeated her own phrase, which hehad copied.
"My word!" said the doctor. "Wouldn't I clear out and enjoy myselfif I could! Your sister's a young woman."
"Of course she is!" Sophia concurred, feeling that she herself waseven younger. "Of course she is!"
"And except that she's nervously organized, and has certainpredispositions, there's nothing the matter with her. Thissciatica--I don't say it would be cured, but it might be, by acomplete change and throwing off all these ridiculous worries. Notonly does she live in the most depressing conditions, but shesuffers tortures for it, and there's absolutely no need for her tobe here at all."
"Doctor," said Sophia, solemnly, impressed, "you are quite right.I agree with every word you say."
"Naturally she's attached to the place," he continued, glancinground the room. "I know all about that. After living here all herlife! But she's got to break herself of her attachment. It's herduty to do so. She ought to show a little energy. I'm deeplyattached to my bed in the morning, but I have to leave it."
"Of course," said Sophia, in an impatient tone, as thoughdisgusted with every person who could not perceive, or would notsubscribe to, these obvious truths that the doctor was uttering."Of course!"
"What she needs is the bustle of life in a good hotel, a goodhydro, for instance. Among jolly people. Parties! Games!Excursions! She wouldn't be the same woman. You'd see. Wouldn't Ido it, if I could? Strathpeffer. She'd soon forget her sciatica. Idon't know what Mrs. Povey's annual income is, but I expect thatif she took it into her head to live in the dearest hotel inEngland, there would be no reason why she shouldn't."
Sophia lifted her head and smiled in calm amusement. "I expectso," she said superiorly.
"A hotel--that's the life. No worries. If ye want anything ye ringa bell. If a waiter gives notice, it's some one else who has theworry, not. you. But you know all about that, Mrs. Scales."
"No one better," murmured Sophia.
"Good evening," he said abruptly, sticking out his hand. "I'll bedown in the morning."
"Did you ever mention this to my sister?" Sophia asked him,rising.
"Yes," said he. "But it's no use. Oh yes, I've told her. But shedoes really think it's quite impossible. She wouldn't even hear ofgoing to live in London with her beloved son. She won't listen."
"I never thought of that," said Sophia. "Good night."
Their hand-grasp was very intimate and mutually comprehending. Hewas pleased by the quick responsiveness of her temperament, andthe masterful vigour which occasionally flashed out in herreplies. He noticed the hardly perceptible distortion of herhandsome, worn face, and he said to himself: "She's been through athing or two," and: "She'll have to mind her p's and q's." Sophiawas pleased because he admired her, and because with her hedropped his bedside jocularities, and talked plainly as a sensibleman will talk when he meets an uncommonly wise woman, and becausehe echoed and amplified her own thoughts. She honoured him bystanding at the door till he had driven off.
For a few moments she mused solitary in the parlour, and then,lowering the gas, she went upstairs to her sister, who lay in thedark. Sophia struck a match.
"You've been having quite a long chat with the doctor," saidConstance. "He's very good company, isn't he? What did he talkabout this time?"
"He wanted to know about Paris and so on," Sophia answered.
"Oh! I believe he's a rare student."
Lying there in the dark, the simple Constance never suspected thatthose two active and strenuous ones had been arranging her lifefor her, so that she should be jolly and live for twenty yearsyet. She did not suspect that she had been tried and found guiltyof sinful attachments, and of being in a rut, and of lacking theelements of ordinary sagacity. It had not occurred to her that ifshe was worried and ill, the reason was to be found in her ownblind and stupid obstinacy. She had thought herself a fairlysensible kind of creature.