A wind was running, so that occasionally the poplars whitened as if a flame flew up them. The sky was broken and blue among moving clouds. Patches of sunshine lay on the level fields, and shadows on the rye and the vineyards. In the distance, very blue, the cathedral bristled1 against the sky, and the houses of the city of Metz clustered vaguely2 below, like a hill.
Among the fields by the lime trees stood the barracks, upon bare, dry ground, a collection of round-roofed huts of corrugated3 iron, where the soldiers’ nasturtiums climbed brilliantly. There was a tract4 of vegetable garden at the side, with the soldiers’ yellowish lettuces5 in rows, and at the back the big, hard drilling-yard surrounded by a wire fence.
At this time in the afternoon, the huts were deserted6, all the beds pushed up, the soldiers were lounging about under the lime trees waiting for the call to drill. Bachmann sat on a bench in the shade that smelled sickly with blossom. Pale green, wrecked7 lime flowers were scattered8 on the ground. He was writing his weekly post card to his mother. He was a fair, long, limber youth, good looking. He sat very still indeed, trying to write his post card. His blue uniform, sagging9 on him as he sat bent10 over the card, disfigured his youthful shape. His sunburnt hand waited motionless for the words to come. “Dear mother”— was all he had written. Then he scribbled11 mechanically: “Many thanks for your letter with what you sent. Everything is all right with me. We are just off to drill on the fortifications —” Here he broke off and sat suspended, oblivious12 of everything, held in some definite suspense13. He looked again at the card. But he could write no more. Out of the knot of his consciousness no word would come. He signed himself, and looked up, as a man looks to see if anyone has noticed him in his privacy.
There was a self-conscious strain in his blue eyes, and a pallor about his mouth, where the young, fair moustache glistened14. He was almost girlish in his good looks and his grace. But he had something of military consciousness, as if he believed in the discipline for himself, and found satisfaction in delivering himself to his duty. There was also a trace of youthful swagger and dare-devilry about his mouth and his limber body, but this was in suppression now.
He put the post card in the pocket of his tunic15, and went to join a group of his comrades who were lounging in the shade, laughing and talking grossly. To-day he was out of it. He only stood near to them for the warmth of the association. In his own consciousness something held him down.
Presently they were summoned to ranks. The sergeant16 came out to take command. He was a strongly built, rather heavy man of forty. His head was thrust forward, sunk a little between his powerful shoulders, and the strong jaw17 was pushed out aggressively. But the eyes were smouldering, the face hung slack and sodden18 with drink.
He gave his orders in brutal19, barking shouts, and the little company moved forward, out of the wire-fenced yard to the open road, marching rhythmically20, raising the dust. Bachmann, one of the inner file of four deep, marched in the airless ranks, half suffocated21 with heat and dust and enclosure. Through the moving of his comrades’ bodies, he could see the small vines dusty by the roadside, the poppies among the tares22 fluttering and blown to pieces, the distant spaces of sky and fields all free with air and sunshine. But he was bound in a very dark enclosure of anxiety within himself.
He marched with his usual ease, being healthy and well adjusted. But his body went on by itself. His spirit was clenched23 apart. And ever the few soldiers drew nearer and nearer to the town, ever the consciousness of the youth became more gripped and separate, his body worked by a kind of mechanical intelligence, a mere24 presence of mind.
They diverged25 from the high road and passed in single file down a path among trees. All was silent and green and mysterious, with shadow of foliage26 and long, green, undisturbed grass. Then they came out in the sunshine on a moat of water, which wound silently between the long, flowery grass, at the foot of the earthworks, that rose in front in terraces walled smooth on the face, but all soft with long grass at the top. Marguerite daisies and lady’s-slipper glimmered27 white and gold in the lush grass, preserved here in the intense peace of the fortifications. Thickets28 of trees stood round about. Occasionally a puff29 of mysterious wind made the flowers and the long grass that crested30 the earthworks above bow and shake as with signals of oncoming alarm.
The group of soldiers stood at the end of the moat, in their light blue and scarlet31 uniforms, very bright. The sergeant was giving them instructions, and his shout came sharp and alarming in the intense, untouched stillness of the place. They listened, finding it difficult to make the effort of understanding.
Then it was over, and the men were moving to make preparations. On the other side of the moat the ramparts rose smooth and clear in the sun, sloping slightly back. Along the summit grass grew and tall daisies stood ledged33 high, like magic, against the dark green of the tree-tops behind. The noise of the town, the running of tram-cars, was heard distinctly, but it seemed not to penetrate35 this still place.
The water of the moat was motionless. In silence the practice began. One of the soldiers took a scaling ladder, and passing along the narrow ledge34 at the foot of the earthworks, with the water of the moat just behind him, tried to get a fixture36 on the slightly sloping wall-face. There he stood, small and isolated37, at the foot of the wall, trying to get his ladder settled. At last it held, and the clumsy, groping figure in the baggy38 blue uniform began to clamber up. The rest of the soldiers stood and watched. Occasionally the sergeant barked a command. Slowly the clumsy blue figure clambered higher up the wall-face. Bachmann stood with his bowels39 turned to water. The figure of the climbing soldier scrambled40 out on to the terrace up above, and moved, blue and distinct, among the bright green grass. The officer shouted from below. The soldier tramped along, fixed41 the ladder in another spot, and carefully lowered himself on to the rungs. Bachmann watched the blind foot groping in space for the ladder, and he felt the world fall away beneath him. The figure of the soldier clung cringing42 against the face of the wall, cleaving43, groping downwards44 like some unsure insect working its way lower and lower, fearing every movement. At last, sweating and with a strained face, the figure had landed safely and turned to the group of soldiers. But still it had a stiffness and a blank, mechanical look, was something less than human.
Bachmann stood there heavy and condemned45, waiting for his own turn and betrayal. Some of the men went up easily enough, and without fear. That only showed it could be done lightly, and made Bachmann’s case more bitter. If only he could do it lightly, like that.
His turn came. He knew intuitively that nobody knew his condition. The officer just saw him as a mechanical thing. He tried to keep it up, to carry it through on the face of things. His inside gripped tight, as yet under control, he took the ladder and went along under the wall. He placed his ladder with quick success, and wild, quivering hope possessed46 him. Then blindly he began to climb. But the ladder was not very firm, and at every hitch47 a great, sick, melting feeling took hold of him. He clung on fast. If only he could keep that grip on himself, he would get through. He knew this, in agony. What he could not understand was the blind gush48 of white-hot fear, that came with great force whenever the ladder swerved49, and which almost melted his belly50 and all his joints51, and left him powerless. If once it melted all his joints and his belly, he was done. He clung desperately52 to himself. He knew the fear, he knew what it did when it came, he knew he had only to keep a firm hold. He knew all this. Yet, when the ladder swerved, and his foot missed, there was the great blast of fear blowing on his heart and bowels, and he was melting weaker and weaker, in a horror of fear and lack of control, melting to fall.
Yet he groped slowly higher and higher, always staring upwards53 with desperate face, and always conscious of the space below. But all of him, body and soul, was growing hot to fusion54 point. He would have to let go for very relief’s sake. Suddenly his heart began to lurch55. It gave a great, sickly swoop56, rose, and again plunged57 in a swoop of horror. He lay against the wall inert58 as if dead, inert, at peace, save for one deep core of anxiety, which knew that it was NOT all over, that he was still high in space against the wall. But the chief effort of will was gone.
There came into his consciousness a small, foreign sensation. He woke up a little. What was it? Then slowly it penetrated59 him. His water had run down his leg. He lay there, clinging, still with shame, half conscious of the echo of the sergeant’s voice thundering from below. He waited, in depths of shame beginning to recover himself. He had been shamed so deeply. Then he could go on, for his fear for himself was conquered. His shame was known and published. He must go on.
Slowly he began to grope for the rung above, when a great shock shook through him. His wrists were grasped from above, he was being hauled out of himself up, up to the safe ground. Like a sack he was dragged over the edge of the earthworks by the large hands, and landed there on his knees, grovelling60 in the grass to recover command of himself, to rise up on his feet.
Shame, blind, deep shame and ignominy overthrew61 his spirit and left it writhing62. He stood there shrunk over himself, trying to obliterate63 himself.
Then the presence of the officer who had hauled him up made itself felt upon him. He heard the panting of the elder man, and then the voice came down on his veins64 like a fierce whip. He shrank in tension of shame.
“Put up your head — eyes front,” shouted the enraged65 sergeant, and mechanically the soldier obeyed the command, forced to look into the eyes of the sergeant. The brutal, hanging face of the officer violated the youth. He hardened himself with all his might from seeing it. The tearing noise of the sergeant’s voice continued to lacerate his body.
Suddenly he set back his head, rigid66, and his heart leapt to burst. The face had suddenly thrust itself close, all distorted and showing the teeth, the eyes smouldering into him. The breath of the barking words was on his nose and mouth. He stepped aside in revulsion. With a scream the face was upon him again. He raised his arm, involuntarily, in self-defence. A shock of horror went through him, as he felt his forearm hit the face of the officer a brutal blow. The latter staggered, swerved back, and with a curious cry, reeled backwards67 over the ramparts, his hands clutching the air. There was a second of silence, then a crash to water.
Bachmann, rigid, looked out of his inner silence upon the scene. Soldiers were running.
“You’d better clear,” said one young, excited voice to him. And with immediate68 instinctive69 decision he started to walk away from the spot. He went down the tree-hidden path to the high road where the trams ran to and from the town. In his heart was a sense of vindication70, of escape. He was leaving it all, the military world, the shame. He was walking away from it.
Officers on horseback rode sauntering down the street, soldiers passed along the pavement. Coming to the bridge, Bachmann crossed over to the town that heaped before him, rising from the flat, picturesque71 French houses down below at the water’s edge, up a jumble72 of roofs and chasms73 of streets, to the lovely dark cathedral with its myriad74 pinnacles75 making points at the sky.
He felt for the moment quite at peace, relieved from a great strain. So he turned along by the river to the public gardens. Beautiful were the heaped, purple lilac trees upon the green grass, and wonderful the walls of the horse-chestnut trees, lighted like an altar with white flowers on every ledge. Officers went by, elegant and all coloured, women and girls sauntered in the chequered shade. Beautiful it was, he walked in a vision, free.
II
But where was he going? He began to come out of his trance of delight and liberty. Deep within him he felt the steady burning of shame in the flesh. As yet he could not bear to think of it. But there it was, submerged beneath his attention, the raw, steady-burning shame.
It behoved him to be intelligent. As yet he dared not remember what he had done. He only knew the need to get away, away from everything he had been in contact with.
But how? A great pang76 of fear went through him. He could not bear his shamed flesh to be put again between the hands of authority. Already the hands had been laid upon him, brutally77 upon his nakedness, ripping open his shame and making him maimed, crippled in his own control.
Fear became an anguish78. Almost blindly he was turning in the direction of the barracks. He could not take the responsibility of himself. He must give himself up to someone. Then his heart, obstinate79 in hope, became obsessed80 with the idea of his sweetheart. He would make himself her responsibility.
Blenching81 as he took courage, he mounted the small, quick-hurrying tram that ran out of the town in the direction of the barracks. He sat motionless and composed, static.
He got out at the terminus and went down the road. A wind was still running. He could hear the faint whisper of the rye, and the stronger swish as a sudden gust82 was upon it. No one was about. Feeling detached and impersonal83, he went down a field-path between the low vines. Many little vine trees rose up in spires84, holding out tender pink shoots, waving their tendrils. He saw them distinctly and wondered over them. In a field a little way off, men and women were taking up the hay. The bullock-waggon stood by on the path, the men in their blue shirts, the women with white cloths over their heads carried hay in their arms to the cart, all brilliant and distinct upon the shorn, glowing green acres. He felt himself looking out of darkness on to the glamorous85, brilliant beauty of the world around him, outside him.
The Baron86’s house, where Emilie was maidservant, stood square and mellow87 among trees and garden and fields. It was an old French grange. The barracks was quite near. Bachmann walked, drawn88 by a single purpose, towards the courtyard. He entered the spacious89, shadowy, sun-swept place. The dog, seeing a soldier, only jumped and whined90 for greeting. The pump stood peacefully in a corner, under a lime tree, in the shade.
The kitchen door was open. He hesitated, then walked in, speaking shyly and smiling involuntarily. The two women started, but with pleasure. Emilie was preparing the tray for afternoon coffee. She stood beyond the table, drawn up, startled, and challenging, and glad. She had the proud, timid eyes of some wild animal, some proud animal. Her black hair was closely banded, her grey eyes watched steadily91. She wore a peasant dress of blue cotton sprigged with little red roses, that buttoned tight over her strong maiden92 breasts.
At the table sat another young woman, the nursery governess, who was picking cherries from a huge heap, and dropping them into a bowl. She was young, pretty, freckled93.
“Good day!” she said pleasantly. “The unexpected.”
Emilie did not speak. The flush came in her dark cheek. She still stood watching, between fear and a desire to escape, and on the other hand joy that kept her in his presence.
“Yes,” he said, bashful and strained, while the eyes of the two women were upon him. “I’ve got myself in a mess this time.”
“What?” asked the nursery governess, dropping her hands in her lap. Emilie stood rigid.
Bachmann could not raise his head. He looked sideways at the glistening94, ruddy cherries. He could not recover the normal world.
“I knocked Sergeant Huber over the fortifications down into the moat,” he said. “It was an accident — but —”
And he grasped at the cherries, and began to eat them, unknowing, hearing only Emilie’s little exclamation95.
“You knocked him over the fortifications!” echoed Fr?ulein Hesse in horror. “How?”
Spitting the cherry-stones into his hand, mechanically, absorbedly, he told them.
“Ach!” exclaimed Emilie sharply.
“And how did you get here?” asked Fr?ulein Hesse.
“I ran off,” he said.
There was a dead silence. He stood, putting himself at the mercy of the women. There came a hissing96 from the stove, and a stronger smell of coffee. Emilie turned swiftly away. He saw her flat, straight back and her strong loins, as she bent over the stove.
“But what are you going to do?” said Fr?ulein Hesse, aghast.
“I don’t know,” he said, grasping at more cherries. He had come to an end.
“You’d better go to the barracks,” she said. “We’ll get the Herr Baron to come and see about it.”
Emilie was swiftly and quietly preparing the tray. She picked it up, and stood with the glittering china and silver before her, impassive, waiting for his reply. Bachmann remained with his head dropped, pale and obstinate. He could not bear to go back.
“I’m going to try to get into France,” he said.
“Yes, but they’ll catch you,” said Fr?ulein Hesse.
Emilie watched with steady, watchful97 grey eyes.
“I can have a try, if I could hide till to-night,” he said.
Both women knew what he wanted. And they all knew it was no good. Emilie picked up the tray, and went out. Bachmann stood with his head dropped. Within himself he felt the dross98 of shame and incapacity.
“You’d never get away,” said the governess.
“I can try,” he said.
To-day he could not put himself between the hands of the military. Let them do as they liked with him tomorrow, if he escaped today.
They were silent. He ate cherries. The colour flushed bright into the cheek of the young governess.
Emilie returned to prepare another tray
“He could hide in your room,” the governess said to her.
The girl drew herself away. She could not bear the intrusion.
“That is all I can think of that is safe from the children,” said Fr?ulein Hesse.
Emilie gave no answer. Bachmann stood waiting for the two women. Emilie did not want the close contact with him.
“You could sleep with me,” Fr?ulein Hesse said to her.
Emilie lifted her eyes and looked at the young man, direct, clear, reserving herself.
“Do you want that?” she asked, her strong virginity proof against him.
“Yes — yes —” he said uncertainly, destroyed by shame.
She put back her head.
“Yes,” she murmured to herself.
Quickly she filled the tray, and went out.
“But you can’t walk over the frontier in a night,” said Fr?ulein Hesse.
“I can cycle,” he said.
Emilie returned, a restraint, a neutrality, in her bearing.
“I’ll see if it’s all right,” said the governess.
In a moment or two Bachmann was following Emilie through the square hall, where hung large maps on the walls. He noticed a child’s blue coat with brass100 buttons on the peg101, and it reminded him of Emilie walking holding the hand of the youngest child, whilst he watched, sitting under the lime tree. Already this was a long way off. That was a sort of freedom he had lost, changed for a new, immediate anxiety.
They went quickly, fearfully up the stairs and down a long corridor. Emilie opened her door, and he entered, ashamed, into her room.
“I must go down,” she murmured, and she departed, closing the door softly.
It was a small, bare, neat room. There was a little dish for holy-water, a picture of the Sacred Heart, a crucifix, and a prie-Dieu. The small bed lay white and untouched, the wash-hand bowl of red earth stood on a bare table, there was a little mirror and a small chest of drawers. That was all.
Feeling safe, in sanctuary102, he went to the window, looking over the courtyard at the shimmering103, afternoon country. He was going to leave this land, this life. Already he was in the unknown.
He drew away into the room. The curious simplicity104 and severity of the little Roman Catholic bedroom was foreign but restoring to him. He looked at the crucifix. It was a long, lean, peasant Christ carved by a peasant in the Black Forest. For the first time in his life, Bachmann saw the figure as a human thing. It represented a man hanging there in helpless torture. He stared at it, closely, as if for new knowledge.
Within his own flesh burned and smouldered the restless shame. He could not gather himself together. There was a gap in his soul. The shame within him seemed to displace his strength and his manhood.
He sat down on his chair. The shame, the roused feeling of exposure acted on his brain, made him heavy, unutterably heavy.
Mechanically, his wits all gone, he took off his boots, his belt, his tunic, put them aside, and lay down, heavy, and fell into a kind of drugged sleep.
Emilie came in a little while, and looked at him. But he was sunk in sleep. She saw him lying there inert, and terribly still, and she was afraid. His shirt was unfastened at the throat. She saw his pure white flesh, very clean and beautiful. And he slept inert. His legs, in the blue uniform trousers, his feet in the coarse stockings, lay foreign on her bed. She went away.
III
She was uneasy, perturbed105 to her last fibre. She wanted to remain clear, with no touch on her. A wild instinct made her shrink away from any hands which might be laid on her.
She was a foundling, probably of some gipsy race, brought up in a Roman Catholic Rescue Home. A na?ve, paganly religious being, she was attached to the Baroness106, with whom she had served for seven years, since she was fourteen.
She came into contact with no one, unless it were with Ida Hesse, the governess. Ida was a calculating, good-natured, not very straight-forward flirt107. She was the daughter of a poor country doctor. Having gradually come into connection with Emilie, more an alliance than an attachment108, she put no distinction of grade between the two of them. They worked together, sang together, walked together, and went together to the rooms of Franz Brand, Ida’s sweetheart. There the three talked and laughed together, or the women listened to Franz, who was a forester, playing on his violin.
In all this alliance there was no personal intimacy109 between the young women. Emilie was naturally secluded110 in herself, of a reserved, native race. Ida used her as a kind of weight to balance her own flighty movement. But the quick, shifty governess, occupied always in her dealings with admirers, did all she could to move the violent nature of Emilie towards some connection with men.
But the dark girl, primitive111 yet sensitive to a high degree, was fiercely virgin99. Her blood flamed with rage when the common soldiers made the long, sucking, kissing noise behind her as she passed. She hated them for their almost jeering112 offers. She was well protected by the Baroness.
And her contempt of the common men in general was ineffable113. But she loved the Baroness, and she revered114 the Baron, and she was at her ease when she was doing something for the service of a gentleman. Her whole nature was at peace in the service of real masters or mistresses. For her, a gentleman had some mystic quality that left her free and proud in service. The common soldiers were brutes115, merely nothing. Her desire was to serve.
She held herself aloof116. When, on Sunday afternoon, she had looked through the windows of the Reichshalle in passing, and had seen the soldiers dancing with the common girls, a cold revulsion and anger had possessed her. She could not bear to see the soldiers taking off their belts and pulling open their tunics117, dancing with their shirts showing through the open, sagging tunic, their movements gross, their faces transfigured and sweaty, their coarse hands holding their coarse girls under the arm-pits, drawing the female up to their breasts. She hated to see them clutched breast to breast, the legs of the men moving grossly in the dance.
At evening, when she had been in the garden, and heard on the other side of the hedge the sexual inarticulate cries of the girls in the embraces of the soldiers, her anger had been too much for her, and she had cried, loud and cold:
“What are you doing there, in the hedge?”
She would have had them whipped.
But Bachmann was not quite a common soldier. Fr?ulein Hesse had found out about him, and had drawn him and Emilie together. For he was a handsome, blond youth, erect118 and walking with a kind of pride, unconscious yet clear. Moreover, he came of a rich farming stock, rich for many generations. His father was dead, his mother controlled the moneys for the time being. But if Bachmann wanted a hundred pounds at any moment, he could have them. By trade he, with one of his brothers, was a waggon-builder. The family had the farming, smithy, and waggon-building of their village. They worked because that was the form of life they knew. If they had chosen, they could have lived independent upon their means.
In this way, he was a gentleman in sensibility, though his intellect was not developed. He could afford to pay freely for things. He had, moreover, his native, fine breeding. Emilie wavered uncertainly before him. So he became her sweetheart, and she hungered after him. But she was virgin, and shy, and needed to be in subjection, because she was primitive and had no grasp on civilized119 forms of living, nor on civilized purposes.
IV
At six o’clock came the inquiry120 of the soldiers: Had anything been seen of Bachmann? Fr?ulein Hesse answered, pleased to be playing a r?le:
“No, I’ve not seen him since Sunday — have you, Emilie?”
“No, I haven’t seen him,” said Emilie, and her awkwardness was construed121 as bashfulness. Ida Hesse, stimulated122, asked questions, and played her part.
“But it hasn’t killed Sergeant Huber?” she cried in consternation123.
“No. He fell into the water. But it gave him a bad shock, and smashed his foot on the side of the moat. He’s in hospital. It’s a bad look-out for Bachmann.”
Emilie, implicated124 and captive, stood looking on. She was no longer free, working with all this regulated system which she could not understand and which was almost god-like to her. She was put out of her place. Bachmann was in her room, she was no longer the faithful in service serving with religious surety.
Her situation was intolerable to her. All evening long the burden was upon her, she could not live. The children must be fed and put to sleep. The Baron and Baroness were going out, she must give them light refreshment125. The man-servant was coming in to supper after returning with the carriage. And all the while she had the insupportable feeling of being out of the order, self-responsible, bewildered. The control of her life should come from those above her, and she should move within that control. But now she was out of it, uncontrolled and troubled. More than that, the man, the lover, Bachmann, who was he, what was he? He alone of all men contained for her the unknown quantity which terrified her beyond her service. Oh, she had wanted him as a distant sweetheart, not close, like this, casting her out of her world.
When the Baron and Baroness had departed, and the young manservant had gone out to enjoy himself, she went upstairs to Bachmann. He had wakened up, and sat dimly in the room. Out in the open he heard the soldiers, his comrades, singing the sentimental126 songs of the nightfall, the drone of the concertina rising in accompaniment.
“Wenn ich zu mei . . . nem Kinde geh’ . . .
In seinem Au . . . g die Mutter seh’ . . . .”
But he himself was removed from it now. Only the sentimental cry of young, unsatisfied desire in the soldiers’ singing penetrated his blood and stirred him subtly. He let his head hang; he had become gradually roused: and he waited in concentration, in another world.
The moment she entered the room where the man sat alone, waiting intensely, the thrill passed through her, she died in terror, and after the death, a great flame gushed127 up, obliterating128 her. He sat in trousers and shirt on the side of the bed. He looked up as she came in, and she shrank from his face. She could not bear it. Yet she entered near to him.
“Do you want anything to eat?” she said.
“Yes,” he answered, and as she stood in the twilight129 of the room with him, he could only hear his heart beat heavily. He saw her apron130 just level with his face. She stood silent, a little distance off, as if she would be there for ever. He suffered.
As if in a spell she waited, standing32 motionless and looming131 there, he sat rather crouching132 on the side of the bed. A second will in him was powerful and dominating. She drew gradually nearer to him, coming up slowly, as if unconscious. His heart beat up swiftly. He was going to move.
As she came quite close, almost invisibly he lifted his arms and put them round her waist, drawing her with his will and desire. He buried his face into her apron, into the terrible softness of her belly. And he was a flame of passion intense about her. He had forgotten. Shame and memory were gone in a whole, furious flame of passion.
She was quite helpless. Her hands leapt, fluttered, and closed over his head, pressing it deeper into her belly, vibrating as she did so. And his arms tightened133 on her, his hands spread over her loins, warm as flame on her loveliness. It was intense anguish of bliss134 for her, and she lost consciousness.
When she recovered, she lay translated in the peace of satisfaction.
It was what she had had no inkling of, never known could be. She was strong with eternal gratitude135. And he was there with her. Instinctively136 with an instinct of reverence137 and gratitude, her arms tightened in a little embrace upon him who held her thoroughly138 embraced.
And he was restored and completed, close to her. That little, twitching139, momentary140 clasp of acknowledgment that she gave him in her satisfaction, roused his pride unconquerable. They loved each other, and all was whole. She loved him, he had taken her, she was given to him. It was right. He was given to her, and they were one, complete.
Warm, with a glow in their hearts and faces, they rose again, modest, but transfigured with happiness.
“I will get you something to eat,” she said, and in joy and security of service again, she left him, making a curious little homage141 of departure. He sat on the side of the bed, escaped, liberated142, wondering, and happy.
V
Soon she came again with the tray, followed by Fr?ulein Hesse. The two women watched him eat, watched the pride and wonder of his being, as he sat there blond and na?f again. Emilie felt rich and complete. Ida was a lesser143 thing than herself.
“And what are you going to do?” asked Fr?ulein Hesse, jealous.
“I must get away,” he said.
But words had no meaning for him. What did it matter? He had the inner satisfaction and liberty.
“But you’ll want a bicycle,” said Ida Hesse.
“Yes,” he said.
Emilie sat silent, removed and yet with him, connected with him in passion. She looked from this talk of bicycles and escape.
They discussed plans. But in two of them was the one will, that Bachmann should stay with Emilie. Ida Hesse was an outsider.
It was arranged, however, that Ida’s lover should put out his bicycle, leave it at the hut where he sometimes watched. Bachmann should fetch it in the night, and ride into France. The hearts of all three beat hot in suspense, driven to thought. They sat in a fire of agitation144.
Then Bachmann would get away to America, and Emilie would come and join him. They would be in a fine land then. The tale burned up again.
Emilie and Ida had to go round to Franz Brand’s lodging145. They departed with slight leave-taking. Bachmann sat in the dark, hearing the bugle146 for retreat sound out of the night. Then he remembered his post card to his mother. He slipped out after Emilie, gave it her to post. His manner was careless and victorious147, hers shining and trustful. He slipped back to shelter.
There he sat on the side of the bed, thinking. Again he went over the events of the afternoon, remembering his own anguish of apprehension148 because he had known he could not climb the wall without fainting with fear. Still, a flush of shame came alight in him at the memory. But he said to himself: “What does it matter? — I can’t help it, well then I can’t. If I go up a height, I get absolutely weak, and can’t help myself.” Again memory came over him, and a gush of shame, like fire. But he sat and endured it. It had to be endured, admitted, and accepted. “I’m not a coward, for all that,” he continued. “I’m not afraid of danger. If I’m made that way, that heights melt me and make me let go my water”— it was torture for him to pluck at this truth —“if I’m made like that, I shall have to abide149 by it, that’s all. It isn’t all of me.” He thought of Emilie, and was satisfied. “What I am, I am; and let it be enough,” he thought.
Having accepted his own defect, he sat thinking, waiting for Emilie, to tell her. She came at length, saying that Franz could not arrange about his bicycle this night. It was broken. Bachmann would have to stay over another day.
They were both happy. Emilie, confused before Ida, who was excited and prurient150, came again to the young man. She was stiff and dignified151 with an agony of unusedness. But he took her between his hands, and uncovered her, and enjoyed almost like madness her helpless, virgin body that suffered so strongly, and that took its joy so deeply. While the moisture of torment152 and modesty153 was still in her eyes, she clasped him closer, and closer, to the victory and the deep satisfaction of both of them. And they slept together, he in repose154 still satisfied and peaceful, and she lying close in her static reality.
VI
In the morning, when the bugle sounded from the barracks they rose and looked out of the window. She loved his body that was proud and blond and able to take command. And he loved her body that was soft and eternal. They looked at the faint grey vapour of summer steaming off from the greenness and ripeness of the fields. There was no town anywhere, their look ended in the haze155 of the summer morning. Their bodies rested together, their minds tranquil156. Then a little anxiety stirred in both of them from the sound of the bugle. She was called back to her old position, to realize the world of authority she did not understand but had wanted to serve. But this call died away again from her. She had all.
She went downstairs to her work, curiously157 changed. She was in a new world of her own, that she had never even imagined, and which was the land of promise for all that. In this she moved and had her being. And she extended it to her duties. She was curiously happy and absorbed. She had not to strive out of herself to do her work. The doing came from within her without call or command. It was a delicious outflow, like sunshine, the activity that flowed from her and put her tasks to rights.
Bachmann sat busily thinking. He would have to get all his plans ready. He must write to his mother, and she must send him money to Paris. He would go to Paris, and from thence, quickly, to America. It had to be done. He must make all preparations. The dangerous part was the getting into France. He thrilled in anticipation158. During the day he would need a time-table of the trains going to Paris — he would need to think. It gave him delicious pleasure, using all his wits. It seemed such an adventure.
This one day, and he would escape then into freedom. What an agony of need he had for absolute, imperious freedom. He had won to his own being, in himself and Emilie, he had drawn the stigma159 from his shame, he was beginning to be himself. And now he wanted madly to be free to go on. A home, his work, and absolute freedom to move and to be, in her, with her, this was his passionate160 desire. He thought in a kind of ecstasy161, living an hour of painful intensity162.
Suddenly he heard voices, and a tramping of feet. His heart gave a great leap, then went still. He was taken. He had known all along. A complete silence filled his body and soul, a silence like death, a suspension of life and sound. He stood motionless in the bedroom, in perfect suspension.
Emilie was busy passing swiftly about the kitchen preparing the children’s breakfasts when she heard the tramp of feet and the voice of the Baron. The latter had come in from the garden, and was wearing an old green linen163 suit. He was a man of middle stature164, quick, finely made, and of whimsical charm. His right hand had been shot in the Franco-Prussian war, and now, as always when he was much agitated165, he shook it down at his side, as if it hurt. He was talking rapidly to a young, stiff Ober-leutnant. Two private soldiers stood bearishly166 in the doorway167.
Emilie, shocked out of herself, stood pale and erect, recoiling168.
“Yes, if you think so, we can look,” the Baron was hastily and irascibly saying.
“Emilie,” he said, turning to the girl, “did you put a post card to the mother of this Bachmann in the box last evening?”
Emilie stood erect and did not answer.
“Yes?” said the Baron sharply.
“Yes, Herr Baron,” replied Emilie, neutral.
The Baron’s wounded hand shook rapidly in exasperation169. The lieutenant170 drew himself up still more stiffly. He was right.
“And do you know anything of the fellow?” asked the Baron, looking at her with his blazing, greyish-golden eyes. The girl looked back at him steadily, dumb, but her whole soul naked before him. For two seconds he looked at her in silence. Then in silence, ashamed and furious, he turned away.
“Go up!” he said, with his fierce, peremptory171 command, to the young officer.
The lieutenant gave his order, in military cold confidence, to the soldiers. They all tramped across the hall. Emilie stood motionless, her life suspended.
The Baron marched swiftly upstairs and down the corridor, the lieutenant and the common soldiers followed. The Baron flung open the door of Emilie’s room and looked at Bachmann, who stood watching, standing in shirt and trousers beside the bed, fronting the door. He was perfectly172 still. His eyes met the furious, blazing look of the Baron. The latter shook his wounded hand, and then went still. He looked into the eyes of the soldier, steadily. He saw the same naked soul exposed, as if he looked really into the MAN. And the man was helpless, the more helpless for his singular nakedness.
“Ha!” he exclaimed impatiently, turning to the approaching lieutenant.
The latter appeared in the doorway. Quickly his eyes travelled over the bare-footed youth. He recognized him as his object. He gave the brief command to dress.
Bachmann turned round for his clothes. He was very still, silent in himself. He was in an abstract, motionless world. That the two gentlemen and the two soldiers stood watching him, he scarcely realized. They could not see him.
Soon he was ready. He stood at attention. But only the shell of his body was at attention. A curious silence, a blankness, like something eternal, possessed him. He remained true to himself.
The lieutenant gave the order to march. The little procession went down the stairs with careful, respectful tread, and passed through the hall to the kitchen. There Emilie stood with her face uplifted, motionless and expressionless. Bachmann did not look at her. They knew each other. They were themselves. Then the little file of men passed out into the courtyard.
The Baron stood in the doorway watching the four figures in uniform pass through the chequered shadow under the lime trees. Bachmann was walking neutralized173, as if he were not there. The lieutenant went brittle174 and long, the two soldiers lumbered175 beside. They passed out into the sunny morning, growing smaller, going towards the barracks.
The Baron turned into the kitchen. Emilie was cutting bread.
“So he stayed the night here?” he said.
The girl looked at him, scarcely seeing. She was too much herself. The Baron saw the dark, naked soul of her body in her unseeing eyes.
“What were you going to do?” he asked.
“He was going to America,” she replied, in a still voice.
“Pah! You should have sent him straight back,” fired the Baron.
Emilie stood at his bidding, untouched.
“He’s done for now,” he said.
But he could not bear the dark, deep nakedness of her eyes, that scarcely changed under this suffering.
“Nothing but a fool,” he repeated, going away in agitation, and preparing himself for what he could do.
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收听单词发音
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1
bristled
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| adj. 直立的，多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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2
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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3
corrugated
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| adj.波纹的；缩成皱纹的；波纹面的；波纹状的v.（使某物）起皱褶(corrugate的过去式和过去分词) | |
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4
tract
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| n.传单，小册子，大片(土地或森林) | |
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5
lettuces
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| n.莴苣，生菜（ lettuce的名词复数 ）；生菜叶 | |
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6
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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9
sagging
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| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
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10
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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11
scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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12
oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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13
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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14
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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15
tunic
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| n.束腰外衣 | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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17
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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18
sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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19
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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20
rhythmically
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| adv.有节奏地 | |
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21
suffocated
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| （使某人）窒息而死( suffocate的过去式和过去分词 )； （将某人）闷死； 让人感觉闷热； 憋气 | |
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22
tares
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| 荑；稂莠；稗 | |
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23
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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25
diverged
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| 分开( diverge的过去式和过去分词 )； 偏离； 分歧； 分道扬镳 | |
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26
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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27
glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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28
thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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29
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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30
crested
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| adj.有顶饰的，有纹章的，有冠毛的v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的过去式和过去分词 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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31
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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32
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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33
ledged
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| 有壁架的，有突出物的，有暗礁的 | |
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34
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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35
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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36
fixture
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| n.固定设备；预定日期；比赛时间；定期存款 | |
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37
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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38
baggy
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| adj.膨胀如袋的，宽松下垂的 | |
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39
bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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40
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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41
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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42
cringing
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| adj.谄媚，奉承 | |
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43
cleaving
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| v.劈开，剁开，割开( cleave的现在分词 ) | |
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44
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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45
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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46
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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47
hitch
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| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
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48
gush
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| v.喷，涌；滔滔不绝(说话)；n.喷，涌流；迸发 | |
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49
swerved
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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51
joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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52
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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53
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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54
fusion
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| n.溶化；熔解；熔化状态，熔和；熔接 | |
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55
lurch
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| n.突然向前或旁边倒；v.蹒跚而行 | |
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56
swoop
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| n.俯冲，攫取；v.抓取，突然袭击 | |
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57
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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58
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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59
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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60
grovelling
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| adj.卑下的，奴颜婢膝的v.卑躬屈节，奴颜婢膝( grovel的现在分词 )；趴 | |
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61
overthrew
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| overthrow的过去式 | |
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62
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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63
obliterate
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| v.擦去，涂抹，去掉...痕迹，消失，除去 | |
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64
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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65
enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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66
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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67
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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68
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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69
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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70
vindication
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| n.洗冤，证实 | |
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71
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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72
jumble
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| vt.使混乱，混杂；n.混乱；杂乱的一堆 | |
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73
chasms
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| 裂缝( chasm的名词复数 )； 裂口； 分歧； 差别 | |
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74
myriad
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| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
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75
pinnacles
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| 顶峰( pinnacle的名词复数 )； 顶点； 尖顶； 小尖塔 | |
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76
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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77
brutally
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| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
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78
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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79
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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80
obsessed
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| adj.心神不宁的,鬼迷心窍的,沉迷的 | |
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81
blenching
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| v.（因惊吓而）退缩，惊悸( blench的现在分词 )；（使）变白，（使）变苍白 | |
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82
gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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83
impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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84
spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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85
glamorous
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| adj.富有魅力的；美丽动人的；令人向往的 | |
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86
baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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87
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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88
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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89
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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90
whined
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| v.哀号( whine的过去式和过去分词 )；哀诉，诉怨 | |
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91
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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92
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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93
freckled
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| adj.雀斑；斑点；晒斑；（使）生雀斑v.雀斑，斑点( freckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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95
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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96
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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97
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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98
dross
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| n.渣滓；无用之物 | |
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99
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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100
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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101
peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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102
sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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103
shimmering
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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104
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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105
perturbed
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| adj.烦燥不安的v.使（某人）烦恼，不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
baroness
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| n.男爵夫人，女男爵 | |
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107
flirt
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| v.调情，挑逗，调戏；n.调情者，卖俏者 | |
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108
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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109
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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110
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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111
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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112
jeering
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| adj.嘲弄的，揶揄的v.嘲笑( jeer的现在分词 ) | |
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113
ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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114
revered
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| v.崇敬，尊崇，敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115
brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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116
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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117
tunics
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| n.（动植物的）膜皮( tunic的名词复数 )；束腰宽松外衣；一套制服的短上衣；（天主教主教等穿的）短祭袍 | |
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118
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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119
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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120
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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121
construed
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| v.解释（陈述、行为等）( construe的过去式和过去分词 )；翻译，作句法分析 | |
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122
stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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123
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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124
implicated
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| adj.密切关联的；牵涉其中的 | |
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125
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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126
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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127
gushed
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| v.喷，涌( gush的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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128
obliterating
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| v.除去( obliterate的现在分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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129
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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130
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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131
looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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132
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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133
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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134
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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135
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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136
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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137
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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138
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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139
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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140
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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141
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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142
liberated
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| a.无拘束的，放纵的 | |
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143
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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144
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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145
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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146
bugle
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| n.军号，号角，喇叭；v.吹号，吹号召集 | |
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147
victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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148
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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149
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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150
prurient
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| adj.好色的，淫乱的 | |
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151
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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152
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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153
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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154
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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155
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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156
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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157
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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158
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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159
stigma
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| n.耻辱，污名；(花的)柱头 | |
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160
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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161
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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162
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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163
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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164
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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165
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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166
bearishly
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| 粗鲁地，笨拙地 | |
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167
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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168
recoiling
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| v.畏缩( recoil的现在分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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169
exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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170
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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171
peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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172
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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173
neutralized
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| v.使失效( neutralize的过去式和过去分词 )；抵消；中和；使（一个国家）中立化 | |
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174
brittle
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| adj.易碎的；脆弱的；冷淡的；(声音)尖利的 | |
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175
lumbered
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| 砍伐（lumber的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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