老妇人的故事 英文版The Old Wives' Tale
阿诺德.本涅特 Arnold Bennett
I
Mr. Povey was playing a hymn tune on the harmonium, it having beendecided that no one should go to chapel. Constance, in mourning,with a white apron over her dress, sat on a hassock in front ofthe fire; and near her, in a rocking-chair, Mrs. Baines swayedvery gently to and fro. The weather was extremely cold. Mr.Povey's mittened hands were blue and red; but, like manyshopkeepers, he had apparently grown almost insensible to vagariesof temperature. Although the fire was immense and furious, itsinfluence, owing to the fact that the mediaeval grate was designedto heat the flue rather than the room, seemed to die away at theborders of the fender. Constance could not have been much closerto it without being a salamander. The era of good old-fashionedChristmases, so agreeably picturesque for the poor, was not yet atan end.
Yes, Samuel Povey had won the battle concerning the locus of thefamily Christmas. But he had received the help of a formidableally, death. Mrs. Harriet Maddack had passed away, after anoperation, leaving her house and her money to her sister. Thesolemn rite of her interment had deeply affected all therespectability of the town of Axe, where the late Mr. Maddack hadbeen a figure of consequence; it had even shut up the shop in St.Luke's Square for a whole day. It was such a funeral as AuntHarriet herself would have approved, a tremendous ceremonial whichleft on the crushed mind an ineffaceable, intricate impression ofshiny cloth, crape, horses with arching necks and long manes, thedrawl of parsons, cake, port, sighs, and Christian submission tothe inscrutable decrees of Providence. Mrs. Baines had borneherself with unnatural calmness until the funeral was over: andthen Constance perceived that the remembered mother of hergirlhood existed no longer. For the majority of human souls itwould have been easier to love a virtuous principle, or amountain, than to love Aunt Harriet, who was assuredly less awoman than an institution. But Mrs. Baines had loved her, and shehad been the one person to whom Mrs. Baines looked for support andguidance. When she died, Mrs. Baines paid the tribute of respectwith the last hoarded remains of her proud fortitude, andweepingly confessed that the unconquerable had been conquered, theinexhaustible exhausted; and became old with whitening hair.
She had persisted in her refusal to spend Christmas in Bursley,but both Constance and Samuel knew that the resistance was onlyformal. She soon yielded. When Constance's second new servant tookit into her head to leave a week before Christmas, Mrs. Bainesmight have pointed out the finger of Providence at work again, andthis time in her favour. But no! With amazing pliancy shesuggested that she should bring one of her own servants to 'tideConstance over' Christmas. She was met with all the forms ofloving solicitude, and she found that her daughter and son-in-lawhad 'turned out of' the state bedroom in her favour. Intenselynattered by this attention (which was Mr. Povey's magnanimousidea), she nevertheless protested strongly. Indeed she 'would nothear of it.'
"Now, mother, don't be silly," Constance had said firmly. "Youdon't expect us to be at all the trouble of moving back again, doyou?" And Mrs. Baines had surrendered in tears.
Thus had come Christmas. Perhaps it was fortunate that, the Axeservant being not quite the ordinary servant, but a benefactorwhere a benefactor was needed, both Constance and her motherthought it well to occupy themselves in household work, 'sparing'the benefactor as much as possible. Hence's Constance's whiteapron.
"There he is!" said Mr. Povey, still playing, but with his eye onthe street.
Constance sprang up eagerly. Then there was a knock on the door.Constance opened, and an icy blast swept into the room. Thepostman stood on the steps, his instrument for knocking (like adrumstick) in one hand, a large bundle of letters in the other,and a yawning bag across the pit of his stomach.
Baines tried once more to speak, but could not. Then, herringlets?
"Merry Christmas, ma'am!" cried the postman, trying to keep warmby cheerfulness.
Constance, taking the letters, responded, while Mr. Povey, playingthe harmonium with his right hand, drew half a crown from hispocket with the left.
"Here you are!" he said, giving it to Constance, who gave it tothe postman.
Fan, who had been keeping her muzzle warm with the extremity ofher tail on the sofa, jumped down to superintend the transaction.
"Brrr!" vibrated Mr. Povey as Constance shut the door.
"What lots!" Constance exclaimed, rushing to the fire. "Here,mother! Here, Sam!"
The girl had resumed possession of the woman's body.
Though the Baines family had few friends (sustained hospitalitybeing little practised in those days) they had, of course, manyacquaintances, and, like other families, they counted theirChristmas cards as an Indian counts scalps. The tale wassatisfactory. There were between thirty and forty envelopes.Constance extracted Christmas cards rapidly, reading theircontents aloud, and then propping them up on the mantelpiece. Mrs.Baines assisted. Fan dealt with the envelopes on the floor. Mr.Povey, to prove that his soul was above toys and gewgaws,continued to play the harmonium.
"Oh, mother!" Constance murmured in a startled, hesitant voice,holding an envelope.
"What is it, my chuck?"
"It's----"
The envelope was addressed to "Mrs. and Miss Baines" in large,perpendicular, dashing characters which Constance instantlyrecognised as Sophia's. The stamps were strange, the postmark'Paris.' Mrs. Baines leaned forward and looked.
"Open it, child," she said.
The envelope contained an English Christmas card of a common type,a spray of holly with greetings, and on it was written, "I do hopethis will reach you on Christmas morning. Fondest love." Nosignature, nor address.
Mrs. Baines took it with a trembling hand, and adjusted herspectacles. She gazed at it a long time.
"And it has done!" she said, and wept.
She tried to speak again, but not being able to command herself,held forth the card to Constance and jerked her head in thedirection of Mr. Povey. Constance rose and put the card on thekeyboard of the harmonium.
"Sophia!" she whispered.
Mr. Povey stopped playing. "Dear, dear!" he muttered.
Fan, perceiving that nobody was interested in her feats, suddenlystood still.
Mrs. Baines tried once more to speak, but could not. Then, herringlets shaking beneath the band of her weeds, she found herfeet, stepped to the harmonium, and, with a movement almostconvulsive, snatched the card from Mr. Povey, and returned to herchair.
Mr. Povey abruptly left the room, followed by Fan. Both the womenwere in tears, and he was tremendously surprised to discover adangerous lump in his own throat. The beautiful and imperiousvision of Sophia, Sophia as she had left them, innocent, wayward,had swiftly risen up before him and made even him a woman too! Yethe had never liked Sophia. The awful secret wound in the familypride revealed itself to him as never before, and he feltintensely the mother's tragedy, which she carried in her breast asAunt Harriet had carried a cancer.
At dinner he said suddenly to Mrs. Baines, who still wept: "Now,mother, you must cheer up, you know."
stamps were strange, the postmark'Paris.' Mrs. Baines leaned.
"Yes, I must," she said quickly. And she did do.
Neither Samuel nor Constance saw the card again. Little was said.There was nothing to say. As Sophia had given no address she mustbe still ashamed of her situation. But she had thought of hermother and sister. She ... she did not even know that Constancewas married ... What sort of a place was Paris? To Bursley, Pariswas nothing but the site of a great exhibition which had recentlyclosed.
Through the influence of Mrs. Baines a new servant was found forConstance in a village near Axe, a raw, comely girl who had neverbeen in a 'place.' And through the post it was arranged that thisinnocent should come to the cave on the thirty-first of December.In obedience to the safe rule that servants should never beallowed to meet for the interchange of opinions, Mrs. Bainesdecided to leave with her own servant on the thirtieth. She wouldnot be persuaded to spend the New Year in the Square. On thetwenty-ninth poor Aunt Maria died all of a sudden in her cottagein Brougham Street. Everybody was duly distressed, and inparticular Mrs. Baines's demeanour under this affliction showedthe perfection of correctness. But she caused it to be understoodthat she should not remain for the funeral. Her nerves would beunequal to the ordeal; and, moreover, her servant must not stay tocorrupt the new girl, nor could Mrs. Baines think of sending herservant to Axe in advance, to spend several days in idle gossipwith her colleague.
This decision took the backbone out of Aunt Maria's funeral, whichtouched the extreme of modesty: a hearse and a one-horse coach.Mr. Povey was glad, because he happened to be very busy. An hourbefore his mother-in-law's departure he came into the parlour withthe proof of a poster.
"What is that, Samuel?" asked Mrs. Baines, not dreaming of theblow that awaited her.
"It's for my first Annual Sale," replied Mr. Povey with falsetranquillity.
Mrs. Baines merely tossed her head. Constance, happily forConstance, was not present at this final defeat of the old order.Had she been there, she would certainly not have known where tolook.