老妇人的故事 英文版The Old Wives' Tale
阿诺德.本涅特 Arnold Bennett
III
On the dark winter morning when Samuel set off to the grandassize, Constance did not ask his views as to what protection hewould adopt against the weather. She silently ranged specialunderclothing, and by the warmth of the fire, which for days shehad kept ablaze in the bedroom, Samuel silently donned the specialunderclothing. Over that, with particular fastidious care, he puthis best suit. Not a word was spoken. Constance and he were notestranged, but the relations between them were in a state offeverish excitation. Samuel had had a cold on his flat chest forweeks, and nothing that Constance could invent would move it. Afew days in bed or even in one room at a uniform temperature wouldhave surely worked the cure. Samuel, however, would not stay inone room: he would not stay in the house, nor yet in Bursley. Hewould take his lacerating cough on chilly trains to Stafford. Hehad no ears for reason; he simply could not listen; he was in adream. After Christmas a crisis came. Constance grew desperate. Itwas a battle between her will and his that occurred one night whenConstance, marshalling all her forces, suddenly insisted that hemust go out no more until he was cured. In the fight Constance wasscarcely recognizable. She deliberately gave way to hysteria; shewas no longer soft and gentle; she flung bitterness at him likevitriol; she shrieked like a common shrew. It seems almostincredible that Constance should have gone so far; but she did.She accused him, amid sobs, of putting his cousin before his wifeand son, of not caring whether or not she was left a widow as theresult of this obstinacy. And she ended by crying passionatelythat she might as well talk to a post. She might just as well havetalked to a post. Samuel answered quietly and coldly. He told herthat it was useless for her to put herself about, as he should actas he thought fit. It was a most extraordinary scene, and quiteunique in their annals. Constance was beaten. She accepted thedefeat, gradually controlling her sobs and changing her tone tothe tone of the vanquished. She kissed him in bed, kissing therod. And he gravely kissed her.
Henceforward she knew, in practice, what the inevitable, when youhave to live with it, may contain of anguish wretched andhumiliating. Her husband was risking his life, so she wasabsolutely convinced, and she could do nothing; she had come tothe bed-rock of Samuel's character. She felt that, for the timebeing, she had a madman in the house, who could not be treatedaccording to ordinary principles. The continual strain aged her.Her one source of relief was to talk with Cyril. She talked to himwithout reserve, and the words 'your father,' 'your father,' wereeverlastingly on her complaining tongue. Yes, she was utterlychanged. Often she would weep when alone.
Nevertheless she frequently forgot that she had been beaten. Shehad no notion of honourable warfare. She was always beginningagain, always firing under a flag of truce; and thus sheconstituted a very inconvenient opponent. Samuel was obliged,while hardening on the main point, to compromise on. lesserquestions. She too could be formidable, and when her lips took acertain pose, and her eyes glowed, he would have put on fortymufflers had she commanded. Thus it was she who arranged all thedetails of the supreme journey to Stafford. Samuel was to drive toKnype, so as to avoid the rigours of the Loop Line train fromBursley and the waiting on cold platforms. At Knype he was to takethe express, and to travel first-class.
After he was dressed on that gas-lit morning, he learnt bit by bitthe extent of her elaborate preparations. The breakfast was aspecial breakfast, and he had to eat it all. Then the cab came,and he saw Amy put hot bricks into it. Constance herself putgoloshes over his boots, not because it was damp, but becauseindiarubber keeps the feet warm. Constance herself bandaged hisneck, and unbuttoned his waistcoat and stuck an extra flannelunder his dickey. Constance herself warmed his woollen gloves, andenveloped him in his largest overcoat.
Samuel then saw Cyril getting ready to go out. "Where are youoff?" he demanded.
"He's going with you as far as Knype," said Constance grimly."He'll see you into the train and then come back here in the cab."
She had sprung this indignity upon him. She glared. Cyril glancedwith timid bravado from one to the other. Samuel had to yield.
Thus in the winter darkness--for it was not yet dawn--Samuel setforth to the trial, escorted by his son. The reverberation of hisappalling cough from the cab was the last thing that Constanceheard.
During most of the day Constance sat in 'Miss Insull's corner' inthe shop. Twenty years ago this very corner had been hers. Butnow, instead of large millinery-boxes enwrapped in brown paper, itwas shut off from the rest of the counter by a rich screen ofmahogany and ground-glass, and within the enclosed space all theapparatus necessary to the activity of Miss Insull had beenprovided for. However, it remained the coldest part of the wholeshop, as Miss Insull's fingers testified. Constance establishedherself there more from a desire to do something, to interfere insomething, than from a necessity of supervising the shop, thoughshe had said to Samuel that she would keep an eye on the shop.Miss Insull, whose throne was usurped, had to sit by the stovewith less important creatures; she did not like it, and herunderlings suffered accordingly.
It was a long day. Towards tea-time, just before Cyril was duefrom school, Mr. Critchlow came surprisingly in. That is to say,his arrival was less of a surprise to Miss Insull and the rest ofthe staff than to Constance. For he had lately formed an irregularhabit of popping in at tea-time, to chat with Miss Insull. Mr.Critchlow was still defying time. He kept his long, thin figureperfectly erect. His features had not altered. His hair and heardcould not have been whiter than they had been for years past. Hewore his long white apron, and over that a thick reefer jacket. Inhis long, knotty fingers he carried a copy of the Signal.
Evidently he had not expected to find the corner occupied byConstance. She was sewing.
"So it's you!" he said, in his unpleasant, grating voice, not evenglancing at Miss Insull. He had gained the reputation of being therudest old man in Bursley. But his general demeanour expressedindifference rather than rudeness. It was a manner that said:"You've got to take me as I am. I may be an egotist, hard, mean,and convinced; but those who don't like it can lump it. I'mindifferent."
He put one elbow on the top of the screen, showing the Signal.
"Mr. Critchlow!" said Constance, primly; she had acquired Samuel'sdislike of him.
"It's begun!" he observed with mysterious glee.
"Has it?" Constance said eagerly. "Is it in the paper already?"
lessons. "It's no use,mother," he said, "I.
She had been far more disturbed about her husband's health thanabout the trial of Daniel Povey for murder, but her interest inthe trial was of course tremendous. And this news, that it hadactually begun, thrilled her.
"Ay!" said Mr. Critchlow. "Didn't ye hear the Signal boy holleringjust now all over the Square?"
"No," said Constance. For her, newspapers did not exist. She neverhad the idea of opening one, never felt any curiosity which shecould not satisfy, if she could satisfy it at all, without thepowerful aid of the press. And even on this day it had notoccurred to her that the Signal might be worth opening.
"Ay!" repeated Mr. Critchlow. "Seemingly it began at two o'clock--or thereabouts." He gave a moment of his attention to a noisy gas-jet, which he carefully lowered.
"What does it say?"
"Nothing yet!" said Mr. Critchlow; and they read the few briefsentences, under their big heading, which described the formalcommencement of the trial of Daniel Povey for the murder of hiswife. "There was some as said," he remarked, pushing up hisspectacles, "that grand jury would alter the charge, or summat!"He laughed, grimly tolerant of the extreme absurdity. "Ah!" headded contemplatively, turning his head to see if the assistantswere listening. They were. It would have been too much, on such aday, to expect a strict adherence to the etiquette of the shop.
Constance had been hearing a good deal lately of grand juries, butshe had understood nothing, nor had she sought to understand.
"I'm very glad it's come on so soon," she said. "In a sense, thatis! I was afraid Sam might be kept at Stafford for days. Do youthink it will last long?"
"Not it!" said Mr. Critchlow, positively. "There's naught in it tospin out."
hard at the boy, then nodded his head severaltimes rapidly?
Then a silence, punctuated by the sound of stitching.
Constance would really have preferred not to converse with the oldman; but the desire for reassurance, for the calming of her ownfears, forced her to speak, though she knew well that Mr.Critchlow was precisely the last man in the town to give moralassistance if he thought it was wanted.
"I do hope everything will be all right!" she murmured.
"Everything'll be all right!" he said gaily. "Everything'll be allright. Only it'll be all wrong for Dan."
"Whatever do you mean, Mr. Critchlow?" she protested.
Nothing, she reflected, could rouse pity in that heart, not even atragedy like Daniel's. She bit her lip for having spoken.
"Well," he said in loud tones, frankly addressing the girls roundthe stove as much as Constance. "I've met with some rare goodarguments this new year, no mistake! There's been some as say thatDan never meant to do it. That's as may be. But if it's a goodreason for not hanging, there's an end to capital punishment inthis country. 'Never meant'! There's a lot of 'em as 'nevermeant'! Then I'm told as she was a gallivanting woman and nohousekeeper, and as often drunk as sober. I'd no call to be toldthat. If strangling is a right punishment for a wife as spends hertime in drinking brandy instead of sweeping floors and airingsheets, then Dan's safe. But I don't seem to see Judge Lindleytelling the jury as it is. I've been a juryman under Judge Lindleymyself--and more than once--and I don't seem to see him, like!" Hepaused with his mouth open. "As for all them nobs," he continued,"including th' rector, as have gone to Stafford to kiss the bookand swear that Dan's reputation is second to none--if they couldha' sworn as Dan wasn't in th' house at all that night, if theycould ha' sworn he was in Jericho, there'd ha' been some sense intheir going. But as it is, they'd ha' done better to stop at homeand mind their business. Bless us! Sam wanted ME to go!"
He laughed again, in the faces of the horrified and angry women.
"I'm surprised at you, Mr. Critchlow! I really am!" Constanceexclaimed.
And the assistants inarticulately supported her with vague sounds.Miss Insull got up and poked the stove. Every soul in theestablishment was loyally convinced that Daniel Povey would beacquitted, and to breathe a doubt on the brightness of thiscertainty was a hideous crime. The conviction was not within thedomain of reason; it was an act of faith; and arguments merelyfretted, without in the slightest degree disturbing it.
breathlessly. "Nothing yet." hadactually begun, thrilled her.formalcommencement.
"Ye may be!" Mr. Critchlow gaily concurred. He was very content.
Just as he shuffled round to leave the shop, Cyril entered.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Critchlow," said Cyril, sheepishly polite.
Mr. Critchlow gazed hard at the boy, then nodded his head severaltimes rapidly, as though to say: "Here's another fool in themaking! So the generations follow one another!" He made no answerto the salutation, and departed.
Cyril ran round to his mother's corner, pitching his bag on to theshowroom stairs as he passed them. Taking off his hat, he kissedher, and she unbuttoned his overcoat with her cold hands.
"What's old Methuselah after?" he demanded.
"Hush!" Constance softly corrected him. "He came in to tell me thetrial had started."
"Oh, I knew that! A boy bought a paper and I saw it. I say,mother, will father be in the paper?" And then in a differenttone: "I say, mother, what is there for tea?"
When his stomach had learnt exactly what there was for tea, theboy began to show an immense and talkative curiosity in the trial.He would not set himself to his home-lessons. "It's no use,mother," he said, "I can't." They returned to the shop together,and Cyril would go every moment to the door to listen for the cryof a newsboy. Presently he hit upon the idea that perhaps newsboysmight be crying the special edition of the Signal in the market-place, in front of the Town Hall, to the neglect of St. Luke'sSquare. And nothing would satisfy him but he must go forth andsee. He went, without his overcoat, promising to run. The shopwaited with a strange anxiety. Cyril had created, by his restlessmovements to and fro, an atmosphere of strained expectancy. Itseemed now as if the whole town stood with beating heart, fearfulof tidings and yet burning to get them. Constance picturedStafford, which she had never seen, and a court of justice, whichshe had never seen, and her husband and Daniel in it. And shewaited.
Cyril ran in. "No!" he announced breathlessly. "Nothing yet."
"Don't take cold, now you're hot," Constance advised.
But he would keep near the door. Soon he ran off again.
And perhaps fifteen seconds after he had gone, the strident cry ofa Signal boy was heard in the distance, faint and indistinct atfirst, then clearer and louder.
"There's a paper!" said the apprentice.
notoccurred to her that the Signal might be worth!
"Sh!" said Constance, listening.
"Sh!" echoed Miss Insull.
"Yes, it is!" said Constance. "Miss Insull, just step out and geta paper. Here's a halfpenny."
The halfpenny passed quickly from one thimbled hand to another.Miss Insull scurried.
She came in triumphantly with the sheet, which Constancetremblingly took. Constance could not find the report at first.Miss Insull pointed to it, and read--
"'Summing up!' Lower down, lower down! 'After an absence ofthirty-five minutes the jury found the prisoner guilty of murder,with a recommendation to mercy. The judge assumed the black capand pronounced sentence of death, saying that he would forward therecommendation to the proper quarter.'"
Cyril returned. "Not yet!" he was saying--when he saw the paperlying on the counter. His crest fell.
Long after the shop was shut, Constance and Cyril waited in theparlour for the arrival of the master of the house. Constance wasin the blackest despair. She saw nothing but death around her. Shethought: misfortunes never come singly. Why did not Samuel come?All was ready for him, everything that her imagination couldsuggest, in the way of food, remedies, and the means of warmth.Amy was not allowed to go to bed, lest she might be needed.Constance did not even hint that Cyril should go to bed. The dark,dreadful minutes ticked themselves off on the mantelpiece untilonly five minutes separated Constance from the moment when shewould not know what to do next. It was twenty-five minutes pasteleven. If at half-past Samuel did not appear, then he could notcome that night, unless the last train from Stafford wasinconceivably late.
The sound of a carriage! It ceased at the door. Mother and sonsprang up.
Yes, it was Samuel! She beheld him once more. And the sight of hiscondition, moral and physical, terrified her. His great strappingson and Amy helped him upstairs. "Will he ever come down thosestairs again?" This thought lanced Constance's heart. The pain wascome and gone in a moment, but it had surprised her tranquilcommonsense, which was naturally opposed to, and gently scornfulof, hysterical fears. As she puffed, with her stoutness, up thestairs, that bland cheerfulness of hers cost her an immense effortof will. She was profoundly troubled; great disasters seemed to beslowly approaching her from all quarters.
Should she send for the doctor? No. To do so would only be aconcession to the panic instinct. She knew exactly what was thematter with Samuel: a severe cough persistently neglected, nomore. As she had expressed herself many times to inquirers, "He'snever been what you may call ill." Nevertheless, as she laid himin bed and possetted him, how frail and fragile he looked! And hewas so exhausted that he would not even talk about the trial.
"If he's not better to-morrow I shall send for the doctor!" shesaid to herself. As for his getting up, she swore she would keephim in bed by force if necessary.