老妇人的故事 英文版The Old Wives' Tale
阿诺德.本涅特 Arnold Bennett
I
She went to sleep in misery. All the glory of her new life hadbeen eclipsed. But when she woke up, a few hours later, in thelarge, velvety stateliness of the bedroom for which Gerald waspaying so fantastic a price per day, she was in a brighter mood,and very willing to reconsider her verdicts. Her pride induced herto put Gerald in the right and herself in the wrong, for she wastoo proud to admit that she had married a charming andirresponsible fool. And, indeed, ought she not to put herself inthe wrong? Gerald had told her to wait, and she had not waited. Hehad said that he should return to the restaurant, and he hadreturned. Why had she not waited? She had not waited because shehad behaved like a simpleton. She had been terrified aboutnothing. Had she not been frequenting restaurants now for a monthpast? Ought not a married woman to be capable of waiting an hourin a restaurant for her lawful husband without looking a ninny?And as for Gerald's behaviour, how could he have acteddifferently? The other Englishman was obviously a brute and hadsought a quarrel. His contradiction of Gerald's statements wasextremely offensive. On being invited by the brute to go outside,what could Gerald do but comply? Not to have complied might havemeant a fight in the restaurant, as the brute was certainly drunk.Compared to the brute, Gerald was not at all drunk, merely alittle gay and talkative. Then Gerald's fib about his chin wasnatural; he simply wished to minimize the fuss and to spare herfeelings. It was, in fact, just like Gerald to keep perfectsilence as to what had passed between himself and the brute.However, she was convinced that Gerald, so lithe and quick, hadgiven that great brute with his supercilious ways as good as hereceived, if not better.
And if she were a man and had asked her wife to wait in arestaurant, and the wife had gone home under the escort of anotherman, she would most assuredly be much more angry than Gerald hadbeen. She was very glad that she had controlled herself andexercised a meek diplomacy. A quarrel had thus been avoided. Yes,the finish of the evening could not be called a quarrel; after hernursing of his chin, nothing but a slight coolness on his part hadpersisted.
She arose silently and began to dress, full of a determination totreat Gerald as a good wife ought to treat a husband. Gerald didnot stir; he was an excellent sleeper: one of those organisms thatnever want to go to bed and never want to get up. When her toiletwas complete save for her bodice, there was a knock at the door.She started.
"Gerald!" She approached the bed, and leaned her nude bosom overher husband, and put her arms round his neck. This method of beingbrought back to consciousness did not displease him.
The knock was repeated. He gave a grunt.
"Some one's knocking at the door," she whispered.
"Then why don't you open it?" he asked dreamily.
"I'm not dressed, darling."
He looked at her. "Stick something on your shoulders, girl!" saidhe. "What does it matter?"
There she was, being a simpleton again, despite her resolution!
She obeyed, and cautiously opened the door, standing behind it.
A middle-aged whiskered servant, in a long white apron, announcedmatters in French which passed her understanding. But Gerald hadheard from the bed, and he replied.
"Bien, monsieur!" The servant departed, with a bow, down theobscure corridor.
"It's Chirac," Gerald explained when she had shut the door. "I wasforgetting I asked him to come and have lunch with us, early. He'swaiting in the drawing-room. Just put your bodice on, and go andtalk to him till I come."
He jumped out of bed, and then, standing in his night-garb,stretched himself and terrifically yawned.
"Me?" Sophia questioned.
"Who else?" said Gerald, with that curious satiric dryness whichhe would sometimes import into his tone.
"But I can't speak French!" she protested.
"I didn't suppose you could," said Gerald, with an increase ofdryness; "but you know as well as I do that he can speak English."
"Oh, very well, then!" she murmured with agreeable alacrity.
Evidently Gerald had not yet quite recovered from his legitimatedispleasure of the night. He minutely examined his mouth in theglass of the Louis Philippe wardrobe. It showed scarcely a traceof battle.
"I say!" he stopped her, as, nervous at the prospect before her,she was leaving the room. "I was thinking of going to Auxerre to-day."
"Auxerre?" she repeated, wondering under what circumstances shehad recently heard that name. Then she remembered: it was theplace of execution of the murderer Rivain.
"Yes," he said. "Chirac has to go. He's on a newspaper now. He wasan architect when I knew him. He's got to go and he thinks himselfjolly lucky. So I thought I'd go with him."
The truth was that he had definitely arranged to go.
"Not to see the execution?" she stammered.
"Why not? I've always wanted to see an execution, especially withthe guillotine. And executions are public in France. It's quitethe proper thing to go to them."
"But why do you want to see an execution?"
"It just happens that I do want to see an execution. It's a fancyof mine, that's all. I don't know that any reason is necessary,"he said, pouring out water into the diminutive ewer.
She was aghast. "And shall you leave me here alone?"
"Well," said he, "I don't see why my being married should preventme from doing something that I've always wanted to do. Do you?"
"Oh NO!" she eagerly concurred.
"That's all right," he said. "You can do exactly as you like.Either stay here, or come with me. If you go to Auxerre there's noneed at all for you to see the execution. It's an interesting oldtown--cathedral and so on. But of course if you can't bear to bein the same town as a guillotine, I'll go alone. I shall come backto-morrow."
It was plain where his wish lay. She stopped the phrases that cameto her lips, and did her best to dismiss the thoughts whichprompted them.
"Of course I'll go," she said quietly. She hesitated, and thenwent up to the washstand and kissed a part of his cheek that wasnot soapy. That kiss, which comforted and somehow reassured her,was the expression of a surrender whose monstrousness she wouldnot admit to herself.
In the rich and dusty drawing-room, Chirac and Chirac's exquisiteformalities awaited her. Nobody else was there.
"My husband ..." she began, smiling and blushing. She likedChirac.
It was the first time she had had the opportunity of using thatword to other than a servant. It soothed her and gave herconfidence. She perceived after a few moments that Chirac didgenuinely admire her; more, that she inspired him with somethingthat resembled awe. Speaking very slowly and distinctly she saidthat she should travel with her husband to Auxerre; as he saw noobjection to that course; implying that if he saw no objection shewas perfectly satisfied. Chirac was concurrence itself. In fiveminutes it seemed to be the most natural and proper thing in theworld that, on her honeymoon, she should be going with her husbandto a particular town because a notorious murderer was about to bedecapitated there in public.
"My husband has always wanted to see an execution," she said,later. "It would be a pity to ..."
"As psychological experience," replied Chirac, pronouncing the pof the adjective, "it will be very interessant. ... To observeone's self, in such circumstances ..." He smiledenthusiastically.
She thought how strange even nice Frenchmen were. Imagine going toan execution in order to observe yourself!