老妇人的故事 英文版The Old Wives' Tale
阿诺德.本涅特 Arnold Bennett
IV
Several shutters were put up in the windows of the shop, toindicate a death, and the news instantly became known in tradingcircles throughout the town. Many people simultaneously remarkedupon the coincidence that Mr. Baines should have died while therewas a show of mourning goods in his establishment. Thiscoincidence was regarded as extremely sinister, and it wasapparently felt that, for the sake of the mind's peace, one oughtnot to inquire into such things too closely. From the moment ofputting up the prescribed shutters, John Baines and his funeralbegan to acquire importance in Bursley, and their importance grewrapidly almost from hour to hour. The wakes continued as usual,except that the Chief Constable, upon representations being madeto him by Mr. Critchlow and other citizens, descended upon St.Luke's Square and forbade the activities of Wombwell's orchestra.Wombwell and the Chief Constable differed as to the justice of thedecree, but every well-minded person praised the Chief Constable,and he himself considered that he had enhanced the town'sreputation for a decent propriety. It was noticed, too, notwithout a shiver of the uncanny, that that night the lions andtigers behaved like lambs, whereas on the previous night they hadroared the whole Square out of its sleep.
The Chief Constable was not the only individual enlisted by Mr.Critchlow in the service of his friend's fame. Mr. Critchlow spenthours in recalling the principal citizens to a due sense of JohnBaines's past greatness. He was determined that his treasured toyshould vanish underground with due pomp, and he left nothingundone to that end. He went over to Hanbridge on the stillwonderful horse-car, and saw the editor-proprietor of theStaffordshire Signal (then a two-penny weekly with no thought ofFootball editions), and on the very day of the funeral the Signalcame out with a long and eloquent biography of John Baines. Thisbiography, giving details of his public life, definitely restoredhim to his legitimate position in the civic memory as an ex-chiefbailiff, an ex-chairman of the Burial Board, and of the Five TownsAssociation for the Advancement of Useful Knowledge, and also as a"prime mover" in the local Turnpike Act, in the negotiations forthe new Town Hall, and in the Corinthian facade of the WesleyanChapel; it narrated the anecdote of his courageous speech from theportico of the Shambles during the riots of 1848, and it did notomit a eulogy of his steady adherence to the wise old Englishmaxims of commerce and his avoidance of dangerous modern methods.Even in the sixties the modern had reared its shameless head. Thepanegyric closed with an appreciation of the dead man's fortitudein the terrible affliction with which a divine providence had seenfit to try him; and finally the Signal uttered its absoluteconviction that his native town would raise a cenotaph to hishonour. Mr. Critchlow, being unfamiliar with the word "cenotaph,"consulted Worcester's Dictionary, and when he found that it meant"a sepulchral monument to one who is buried elsewhere," he was aspleased with the Signal's language as with the idea, and decidedthat a cenotaph should come to pass.
The house and shop were transformed into a hive of preparation forthe funeral. All was changed. Mr. Povey kindly slept for threenights on the parlour sofa, in order that Mrs. Baines might havehis room. The funeral grew into an obsession, for multitudinousthings had to be performed and done sumptuously and in strictaccordance with precedent. There were the family mourning, thefuneral repast, the choice of the text on the memorial card, thecomposition of the legend on the coffin, the legal arrangements,the letters to relations, the selection of guests, and thequestions of bell-ringing, hearse, plumes, number of horses, andgrave-digging. Nobody had leisure for the indulgence of griefexcept Aunt Maria, who, after she had helped in the laying-out,simply sat down and bemoaned unceasingly for hours her absence onthe fatal morning. "If I hadn't been so fixed on polishing mycandle-sticks," she weepingly repeated, "he mit ha' been alive andwell now." Not that Aunt Maria had been informed of the precisecircumstances of the death; she was not clearly aware that Mr.Baines had died through a piece of neglect. But, like Mr.Critchlow, she was convinced that there had been only one personin the world truly capable of nursing Mr. Baines. Beyond thefamily, no one save Mr. Critchlow and Dr. Harrop knew just how themartyr had finished his career. Dr. Harrop, having been askedbluntly if an inquest would be necessary, had reflected a momentand had then replied: "No." And he added, "Least said soonestmended--mark me!" They had marked him. He was commonsense inbreeches.
As for Aunt Maria, she was sent about her snivelling business byAunt Harriet. The arrival in the house of this genuine aunt fromAxe, of this majestic and enormous widow whom even the imperialMrs. Baines regarded with a certain awe, set a seal of ultimatesolemnity on the whole event. In Mr. Povey's bedroom Mrs. Bainesfell like a child into Aunt Harriet's arms and sobbed:
"If it had been anything else but that elephant!"
Such was Mrs. Baines's sole weakness from first to last.
Aunt Harriet was an exhaustless fountain of authority upon everydetail concerning interments. And, to a series of questions endingwith the word "sister," and answers ending with the word "sister,"the prodigious travail incident to the funeral was gradually andsuccessfully accomplished. Dress and the repast exceeded all othermatters in complexity and difficulty. But on the morning of thefuneral Aunt Harriet had the satisfaction of beholding her youngersister the centre of a tremendous cocoon of crape, whose slightestpleat was perfect. Aunt Harriet seemed to welcome her then, like aveteran, formally into the august army of relicts. As they stoodside by side surveying the special table which was being laid inthe showroom for the repast, it appeared inconceivable that theyhad reposed together in Mr. Povey's limited bed. They descendedfrom the showroom to the kitchen, where the last delicate disheswere inspected. The shop was, of course, closed for the day, butMr. Povey was busy there, and in Aunt Harriet's all-seeing glancehe came next after the dishes. She rose from the kitchen to speakwith him.
"You've got your boxes of gloves all ready?" she questioned him.
"Yes, Mrs. Maddack."
"You'll not forget to have a measure handy?"
"No, Mrs. Maddack."
"You'll find you'll want more of seven-and-three-quarters andeights than anything."
"Yes. I have allowed for that."
"If you place yourself behind the side-door and put your boxes onthe harmonium, you'll be able to catch every one as they come in."
"That is what I had thought of, Mrs. Maddack."
She went upstairs. Mrs. Baines had reached the showroom again, andwas smoothing out creases in the white damask cloth and arrangingglass dishes of jam at equal distances from each other.
"Come, sister," said Mrs. Maddack. "A last look."
And they passed into the mortuary bedroom to gaze at Mr. Bainesbefore he should be everlastingly nailed down. In death he hadrecovered some of his earlier dignity; but even so he was astartling sight. The two widows bent over him, one on either side,and gravely stared at that twisted, worn white face all neatlytucked up in linen.
"I shall fetch Constance and Sophia," said Mrs. Maddack, withtears in her voice. "Do you go into the drawing-room, sister."
But Mrs. Maddack only succeeded in fetching Constance.
Then there was the sound of wheels in King Street. The long riteof the funeral was about to begin. Every guest, after having beenmeasured and presented with a pair of the finest black kid glovesby Mr. Povey, had to mount the crooked stairs and gaze upon thecarcase of John Baines, going afterwards to the drawing-room tocondole briefly with the widow. And every guest, while consciousof the enormity of so thinking, thought what an excellent thing itwas that John Baines should be at last dead and gone. The trampingon the stairs was continual, and finally Mr. Baines himself wentdownstairs, bumping against corners, and led a cortege of twentyvehicles.
The funeral tea was not over at seven o'clock, five hours afterthe commencement of the rite. It was a gigantic and faultlessmeal, worthy of John Baines's distant past. Only two persons wereabsent from it--John Baines and Sophia. The emptiness of Sophia'schair was much noticed; Mrs. Maddack explained that Sophia wasvery high-strung and could not trust herself. Great efforts wereput forth by the company to be lugubrious and inconsolable, butthe secret relief resulting from the death would not be entirelyhidden. The vast pretence of acute sorrow could not stand intactagainst that secret relief and the lavish richness of the food.
To the offending of sundry important relatives from a distance,Mr. Critchlow informally presided over that assemblage of gravemen in high stocks and crinolined women. He had closed his shop,which had never before been closed on a weekday, and he had agreat deal to say about this extraordinary closure. It was due asmuch to the elephant as to the funeral. The elephant had become avictim to the craze for souvenirs. Already in the night his tuskshad been stolen; then his feet disappeared for umbrella-stands,and most of his flesh had departed in little hunks. Everybody inBursley had resolved to participate in the elephant. Oneconsequence was that all the chemists' shops in the town wereassaulted by strings of boys. 'Please a pennorth o' alum to tak'smell out o' a bit o' elephant.' Mr. Critchlow hated boys.
"'I'll alum ye!' says I, and I did. I alummed him out o' my shopwith a pestle. If there'd been one there'd been twenty betweenopening and nine o'clock. 'George,' I says to my apprentice, 'shutshop up. My old friend John Baines is going to his long home to-day, and I'll close. I've had enough o' alum for one day.'"
The elephant fed the conversation until after the second relay ofhot muffins. When Mr. Critchlow had eaten to his capacity, he tookthe Signal importantly from his pocket, posed his spectacles, andread the obituary all through in slow, impressive accents. Beforehe reached the end Mrs. Baines began to perceive that familiarityhad blinded her to the heroic qualities of her late husband. Thefourteen years of ceaseless care were quite genuinely forgotten,and she saw him in his strength and in his glory. When Mr.Critchlow arrived at the eulogy of the husband and father, Mrs.Baines rose and left the showroom. The guests looked at each otherin sympathy for her. Mr. Critchlow shot a glance at her over hisspectacles and continued steadily reading. After he had finishedhe approached the question of the cenotaph.
Mrs. Baines, driven from the banquet by her feelings, went intothe drawing-room. Sophia was there, and Sophia, seeing tears inher mother's eyes, gave a sob, and flung herself bodily againsther mother, clutching her, and hiding her face in that broadcrape, which abraded her soft skin.
"Mother," she wept passionately, "I want to leave the school now.I want to please you. I'll do anything in the world to please you.I'll go into the shop if you'd like me to!" Her voice lost itselfin tears.
"Calm yourself, my pet," said Mrs. Baines, tenderly, caressingher. It was a triumph for the mother in the very hour when sheneeded a triumph.