老妇人的故事 英文版The Old Wives' Tale
阿诺德.本涅特 Arnold Bennett
I
For a time there existed in the minds of both Gerald and Sophiathe remarkable notion that twelve thousand pounds represented theinfinity of wealth, that this sum possessed special magicalproperties which rendered it insensible to the process ofsubtraction. It seemed impossible that twelve thousand pounds,while continually getting less, could ultimately quite disappear.The notion lived longer in the mind of Gerald than in that ofSophia; for Gerald would never look at a disturbing fact, whereasSophia's gaze was morbidly fascinated by such phenomena. In a lifedevoted to travel and pleasure Gerald meant not to spend more thansix hundred a year, the interest on his fortune. Six hundred ayear is less than two pounds a day, yet Gerald never paid lessthan two pounds a day in hotel bills alone. He hoped that he wasliving on a thousand a year, had a secret fear that he might bespending fifteen hundred, and was really spending about twothousand five hundred. Still, the remarkable notion of theinexhaustibility of twelve thousand pounds always reassured him.The faster the money went, the more vigorously this notionflourished in Gerald's mind. When twelve had unaccountablydwindled to three, Gerald suddenly decided that he must act, andin a few months he lost two thousand on the Paris Bourse. Theadventure frightened him, and in his panic he scattered a coupleof hundred in a frenzy of high living.
But even with only twenty thousand francs left out of threehundred thousand, he held closely to the belief that natural lawswould in his case somehow be suspended. He had heard of men whowere once rich begging bread and sweeping crossings, but he feltquite secure against such risks, by simple virtue of the axiomthat he was he. However, he meant to assist the axiom by effortsto earn money. When these continued to fail, he tried to assistthe axiom by borrowing money; but he found that his uncle haddefinitely done with him. He would have assisted the axiom bystealing money, but he had neither the nerve nor the knowledge tobe a swindler; he was not even sufficiently expert to cheat atcards.
He had thought in thousands. Now he began to think in hundreds, intens, daily and hourly. He paid two hundred francs in railwayfares in order to live economically in a village, and shortlyafterwards another two hundred francs in railway fares in order tolive economically in Paris. And to celebrate the arrival in Parisand the definite commencement of an era of strict economy andserious search for a livelihood, he spent a hundred francs on adinner at the Maison Doree and two balcony stalls at the Gymnase.In brief, he omitted nothing--no act, no resolve, no self-deception--of the typical fool in his situation; always convincedthat his difficulties and his wisdom were quite exceptional.
In May, 1870, on an afternoon, he was ranging nervously to and froin a three-cornered bedroom of a little hotel at the angle of theRue Fontaine and the Rue Laval (now the Rue Victor Masse), withinhalf a minute of the Boulevard de Clichy. It had come to that--anexchange of the 'grand boulevard' for the 'boulevard exterieur'!Sophia sat on a chair at the grimy window, glancing down in idledisgust of life at the Clichy-Odeon omnibus which was casting offits tip-horse at the corner of the Rue Chaptal. The noise ofpetty, hurried traffic over the bossy paving stones was deafening.The locality was not one to correspond with an ideal. There wastoo much humanity crowded into those narrow hilly streets;humanity seemed to be bulging out at the windows of the highhouses. Gerald healed his pride by saying that this was, afterall, the real Paris, and that the cookery was as good as could begot anywhere, pay what you would. He seldom ate a meal in thelittle salons on the first floor without becoming ecstatic uponthe cookery. To hear him, he might have chosen the hotel on itssuperlative merits, without regard to expense. And with his air ofuse and custom, he did indeed look like a connoisseur of Paris whoknew better than to herd with vulgar tourists in the pens of theMadeleine quarter. He was dressed with some distinction; goodclothes, when put to the test, survive a change of fortune, as aRoman arch survives the luxury of departed empire. Only hiscollar, large V-shaped front, and wristbands, which bore theineifaceable signs of cheap laundering, reflected the shadow ofimpending disaster.
He glanced sideways, stealthily, at Sophia. She, too, was stilldressed with distinction; in the robe of black faille, thecashmere shawl, and the little black hat with its falling veil,there was no apparent symptom of beggary. She would have beenjudged as one of those women who content themselves with fewclothes but good, and, greatly aided by nature, make a little go along way. Good black will last for eternity; it discloses nosecrets of modification and mending, and it is not transparent.
At last Gerald, resuming a suspended conversation, said as it weredoggedly:
"I tell you I haven't got five francs altogether! and you can feelmy pockets if you like," added the habitual liar in him, fearingincredulity.
"Well, and what do you expect me to do?" Sophia inquired.
The accent, at once ironic and listless, in which she put thisquestion, showed that strange and vital things had happened toSophia in the four years which had elapsed since her marriage. Itdid really seem to her, indeed, that the Sophia whom Gerald hadespoused was dead and gone, and that another Sophia had come intoher body: so intensely conscious was she of a fundamental changein herself under the stress of continuous experience. And thoughthis was but a seeming, though she was still the same Sophia morefully disclosed, it was a true seeming. Indisputably morebeautiful than when Gerald had unwillingly made her his legalwife, she was now nearly twenty-four, and looked perhaps somewhatolder than her age. Her frame was firmly set, her waist thicker,neither slim nor stout. The lips were rather hard, and she had ahabit of tightening her mouth, on the same provocation as sends asnail into its shell. No trace was left of immature gawkiness inher gestures or of simplicity in her intonations. She was a womanof commanding and slightly arrogant charm, not in the least degreethe charm of innocence and ingenuousness. Her eyes were the eyesof one who has lost her illusions too violently and toocompletely. Her gaze, coldly comprehending, implied familiaritywith the abjectness of human nature. Gerald had begun and hadfinished her education. He had not ruined her, as a bad professormay ruin a fine voice, because her moral force immeasurablyexceeded his; he had unwittingly produced a masterpiece, but itwas a tragic masterpiece. Sophia was such a woman as, by a mereglance as she utters an opinion, will make a man say to himself,half in desire and half in alarm lest she reads him too: "By Jove!she must have been through a thing or two. She knows what peopleare!"
The marriage was, of course, a calamitous folly. From the veryfirst, from the moment when the commercial traveller had withincomparable rash fatuity thrown the paper pellet over thecounter, Sophia's awakening commonsense had told her that inyielding to her instinct she was sowing misery and shame forherself; but she had gone on, as if under a spell. It had neededthe irretrievableness of flight from home to begin the breaking ofthe trance. Once fully awakened out of the trance, she hadrecognized her marriage for what it was. She had made neither thebest nor the worst of it. She had accepted Gerald as one accepts aclimate. She saw again and again that he was irreclaimably a fooland a prodigy of irresponsibleness. She tolerated him, now withsweetness, now bitterly; accepting always his caprices, and notpermitting herself to have wishes of her own. She was ready to paythe price of pride and of a moment's imbecility with a lifetime ofself-repression. It was high, but it was the price. She hadacquired nothing but an exceptionally good knowledge of the Frenchlanguage (she soon learnt to scorn Gerald's glib maltreatment ofthe tongue), and she had conserved nothing but her dignity. Sheknew that Gerald was sick of her, that he would have danced forjoy to be rid of her; that he was constantly unfaithful; that hehad long since ceased to be excited by her beauty. She knew alsothat at bottom he was a little afraid of her; here was her solemoral consolation. The thing that sometimes struck her assurprising was that he had not abandoned her, simply and crudelywalked off one day and forgotten to take her with him.
They hated each other, but in different ways. She loathed him, andhe resented her.
"What do I expect you to do?" he repeated after her. "Why don'tyou write home to your people and get some money out of them?"
Now that he had said what was in his mind, he faced her with abullying swagger. Had he been a bigger man he might have tried theeffect of physical bullying on her. One of his numerous reasonsfor resenting her was that she was the taller of the two.
She made no reply.
"Now you needn't turn pale and begin all that fuss over again.What I'm suggesting is a perfectly reasonable thing. If I haven'tgot money I haven't got it. I can't invent it."
She perceived that he was ready for one of their periodicaltempestuous quarrels. But that day she felt too tired and unwellto quarrel. His warning against a repetition of 'fuss' hadreference to the gastric dizziness from which she had beensuffering for two years. It would take her usually after a meal.She did not swoon, but her head swam and she could not stand. Shewould sink down wherever she happened to be, and, her facealarmingly white, murmur faintly: "My salts." Within five minutesthe attack had gone and left no trace. She had been through onejust after lunch. He resented this affection. He detested beingcompelled to hand the smelling-bottle to her, and he would haveavoided doing so if her pallor did not always alarm him. Nothingbut this pallor convinced him that the attacks were not a deepruse to impress him. His attitude invariably implied that shecould cure the malady if she chose, but that through obstinacy shedid not choose.
"Are you going to have the decency to answer my question, oraren't you?"
"What question?" Her vibrating voice was low and restrained.
Nevershould they know what she had suffered! And especially her AuntHarriet, from whom.
"Will you write to your people?"
"For money?"
The sarcasm of her tone was diabolic. She could not have kept thesarcasm out of her tone; she did not attempt to keep it out. Shecared little if it whipped him to fury. Did he imagine, seriously,that she would be capable of going on her knees to her family?She? Was he unaware that his wife was the proudest and the mostobstinate woman on earth; that all her behaviour to him was theexpression of her pride and her obstinacy? Ill and weak though shefelt, she marshalled together all the forces of her character todefend her resolve never, never to eat the bread of humiliation.She was absolutely determined to be dead to her family. Certainly,one December, several years previously, she had seen EnglishChristmas cards in an English shop in the Rue de Rivoli, and in asudden gush of tenderness towards Constance, she had despatched acoloured greeting to Constance and her mother. And havinginitiated the custom, she had continued it. That was not likeasking a kindness; it was bestowing a kindness. But except for theannual card, she was dead to St. Luke's Square. She was one ofthose daughters who disappear and are not discussed in the familycircle. The thought of her immense foolishness, the little tenderthoughts of Constance, some flitting souvenir, full of unwillingadmiration, of a regal gesture of her mother,--these things onlysteeled her against any sort of resurrection after death.
And he was urging her to write home for money! Why, she would noteven have paid a visit in splendour to St. Luke's Square. Nevershould they know what she had suffered! And especially her AuntHarriet, from whom she had stolen!
"Will you write to your people?" he demanded yet again,emphasizing and separating each word.
"No," she said shortly, with terrible disdain.
"Why not?"
"Because I won't." The curling line of her lips, as they closed oneach other, said all the rest; all the cruel truths about hisunspeakable, inane, coarse follies, his laziness, his excesses,his lies, his deceptions, his bad faith, his truculence, hisimprovidence, his shameful waste and ruin of his life and hers.She doubted whether he realized his baseness and her wrongs, butif he could not read them in her silent contumely, she was tooproud to recite them to him. She had never complained, save inuncontrolled moments of anger.
"If that's the way you're going to talk--all right!" he snapped,furious. Evidently he was baffled.
She kept silence. She was determined to see what he would do inthe face of her inaction.
"You know, I'm not joking," he pursued. "We shall starve."
"Very well," she agreed. "We shall starve."
She watched him surreptitiously, and she was almost sure that hereally had come to the end of his tether. His voice, which neveralone convinced, carried a sort of conviction now. He waspenniless. In four years he had squandered twelve thousand pounds,and had nothing to show for it except an enfeebled digestion and atragic figure of a wife. One small point of satisfaction therewas--and all the Baines in her clutched at it and tried to sucksatisfaction from it--their manner of travelling about from hotelto hotel had made it impossible for Gerald to run up debts. A fewdebts he might have, unknown to her, but they could not beserious.
So they looked at one another, in hatred and despair. Theinevitable had arrived. For months she had fronted it in bravado,not concealing from herself that it lay in waiting. For years hehad been sure that though the inevitable might happen to others itcould not happen to him. There it was! He was conscious of a heavyweight in his stomach, and she of a general numbness, enwrappingher fatigue. Even then he could not believe that it was true, thisdisaster. As for Sophia she was reconciling herself with bitterphilosophy to the eccentricities of fate. Who would have dreamedthat she, a young girl brought up, etc? Her mother could not haveimproved the occasion more uncompromisingly than Sophia did--behind that disdainful mask.
"Well--if that's it ...!" Gerald exploded at length, puffing. Andhe puffed out of the room and was gone in a second.