老妇人的故事 英文版The Old Wives' Tale
阿诺德.本涅特 Arnold Bennett
VI
When the altercation between the policeman and the musician in thegutter was at its height, Samuel Povey became restless; but sincehe had scarcely stirred through the performances of the bands, itwas probably not the cries of the drunkard that had aroused him.
He had shown very little interest in the preliminaries of thegreat demonstration. The flame of his passion for the case ofDaniel Povey seemed to have shot up on the day before theexecution, and then to have expired. On that day he went toStafford in order, by permit of the prison governor, to see hiscousin for the last time. His condition then was undoubtedly notfar removed from monomania. 'Unhinged' was the conventionalexpression which frequently rose in Constance's mind as adescription of the mind of her husband; but she fought it down;she would not have it; it was too crude--with its associations.She would only admit that the case had 'got on' his mind. Astartling proof of this was that he actually suggested takingCyril with him to see the condemned man. He wished Cyril to seeDaniel; he said gravely that he thought Cyril ought to see him.The proposal was monstrous, inexplicable--or explicable only bythe assumption that his mind, while not unhinged, had temporarilylost its balance. Constance opposed an absolute negative, andSamuel being in every way enfeebled, she overcame. As for Cyril,he was divided between fear and curiosity. On the whole, perhapsCyril regretted that he would not be able to say at school that hehad had speech with the most celebrated killer of the age on theday before his execution.
Samuel returned hysterical from Stafford. His account of thescene, which he gave in a very loud voice, was a most absurd andyet pathetic recital, obviously distorted by memory. When he cameto the point of the entrance of Dick Povey, who was still at thehospital, and who had been specially driven to Stafford andcarried into the prison, he wept without restraint. His hysteriawas painful in a very high degree.
He went to bed--of his own accord, for his cough had improvedagain. And on the following day, the day of the execution, heremained in bed till the afternoon. In the evening the Rector sentfor him to the Rectory to discuss the proposed demonstration. Onthe next day, Saturday, he said he should not get up. Icy showerswere sweeping the town, and his cough was worse after the eveningvisit to the Rector. Constance had no apprehensions about him. Themost dangerous part of the winter was over, and there was nothingnow to force him into indiscretions. She said to herself calmlythat he should stay in bed as long as he liked, that he could nothave too much repose after the cruel fatigues, physical andspiritual, which he had suffered. His cough was short, but not astroublesome as in the past; his face flushed, dusky, and settledin gloom; and he was slightly feverish, with quick pulse and quickbreathing--the symptoms of a renewed cold. He passed a wakefulnight, broken by brief dreams in which he talked. At dawn he hadsome hot food, asked what day it was, frowned, and seemed to dozeoff at once. At eleven o'clock he had refused food. And he hadintermittently dozed during the progress of the demonstration andits orgiastic sequel.
Constance had food ready for his waking, and she approached thebed and leaned over him. The fever had increased somewhat, thebreathing was more rapid, and his lips were covered with tinypurple pimples. He feebly shook his head, with a disgusted air, ather mention of food. It was this obstinate refusal of food whichfirst alarmed her. A little uncomfortable suspicion shot up inher: Surely there's nothing the MATTER with him?
Something--impossible to say what--caused her to bend still lower,and put her ear to his chest. She heard within that mysterious boxa rapid succession of thin, dry, crackling sounds: sounds such asshe would have produced by rubbing her hair between her fingersclose to her ear. The crepitation ceased, then recommenced, andshe perceived that it coincided with the intake of his breath. Hecoughed; the sounds were intensified; a spasm of pain ran over hisface; and he put his damp hand to his side.
"Pain in my side!" he whispered with difficulty.
Constance stepped into the drawing-room, where Cyril was sketchingby the fire.
"Cyril," she said, "go across and ask Dr. Harrop to come round atonce. And if he isn't in, then his new partner."
"Is it for father?"
"Yes."
"What's the matter?"
"Now do as I say, please," said Constance, sharply, adding: "Idon't know what's the matter. Perhaps nothing. But I'm notsatisfied."
The venerable Harrop pronounced the word 'pneumonia.' It was acutedouble pneumonia that Samuel had got. During the three worstmonths of the year, he had escaped the fatal perils which await aman with a flat chest and a chronic cough, who ignores hiscondition and defies the weather. But a journey of five hundredyards to the Rectory had been one journey too many. The Rectorywas so close to the shop that he had not troubled to wrap himselfup as for an excursion to Stafford. He survived the crisis of thedisease and then died of toxsemia, caused by a heart that wouldnot do its duty by the blood. A casual death, scarce noticed inthe reaction after the great febrile demonstration! Besides,Samuel Povey never could impose himself on the burgesses. Helacked individuality. He was little. I have often laughed atSamuel Povey. But I liked and respected him. He was a very honestman. I have always been glad to think that, at the end of hislife, destiny took hold of him and displayed, to the observant,the vein of greatness which runs through every soul withoutexception. He embraced a cause, lost it, and died of it.