“If you liked it half as well as I like to do it, Miss Becky, you’d like it even better than you do now,” replied Lady Macbeth, with a cheerful gusto, somewhat at odds1 with her tragic2 character.
Nannie Ray, herself still very new to 197 the delights of theatre-going, had recently seen a great actress play Lady Macbeth, and, fired with the spirit of emulation3, she had been enacting4 the sleep-walking scene for the benefit of her country neighbour. Miss Becky Crawlin lived only half a mile down the road from the old Ray homestead, where the family were in the habit of spending six months of the year. She and Nannie had always been great cronies, Miss Becky finding a perennial5 delight in “that child’s goin’s on.”
The “child” meanwhile had come to be sixteen years old, but no one would have given her credit for such dignity who had seen the incongruous little figure perched upon the slippery haircloth sofa, twinkling with delight at Miss Becky’s encomiums. She wore a voluminous nightgown, from under the hem7 of which a pink gingham ruffle8 insisted upon poking9 itself out; her long black hair hung over her shoulders in sufficiently10 tragic strands11; her cheeks, liberally powdered with flour, gleamed treacherously12 pink through a 198 chance break in their highly artificial pallor, while portentous13 brows of burnt cork14 did their best to make terrible a pair of very girlish and innocent eyes. A touch of realism which the original Lady Macbeth lacked was given by a streak15 of red crayon which lent a murderous significance to the small brown hand.
“I declare!” her admiring auditor16 went on, stitching away to make up for lost time, “I can’t see but you do’s well’s the lady I saw—only she was dressed prettier, and went round with a wreath on her head. A wreath’s always so becomin’! We used to wear ’em May Day, when I was a girl. They was made o’ paper flowers, all colours, so’s you could suit your complexion17, and when it didn’t rain I must say we looked reel nice. ’Twas surprisin’, though, how quick a few drops o’ rain would wilt18 one o’ them paper wreaths right down so’s you could scurcely tell what ’twas meant for.”
“Tell me some more about the girl with the wreath, Miss Becky,” said Lady Macbeth, longing19 to curl herself up in a 199 corner, but too mindful of her tragic dignity to unbend.
“Well, she looked reel pretty, but she didn’t hev sperit enough to suit my idees. She was kind o’ lackadaisical20 and namby-pamby, ’n’ when her young man sarsed her she didn’t seem to hev nothin’ to say for herself. I must say ’twas a heathenish kind of a play anyway, ’n’ I ain’t surprised that Uncle ’Bijah got sot agin it. The language wa’n’t sech as I’d ben brought up to, either.”
Lady Macbeth had leaned forward and was clasping her knees, thus unconsciously widening the expanse of pink gingham visible beneath the white robe. She was glad she had modified her Shakespeare to suit her listener, though “Out, dreadful spot!” was not nearly as bloodcurdling as the original.
Miss Becky, meanwhile, had not paused in her narration21.
“There was a long-winded young man,” she was saying, “him that sarsed his girl, ’n’ he went slashin’ round, killin’ folks off in a kind of an aimless way, an’––” 200
“It must have been Hamlet that you saw!” cried Nannie, much excited. “Oh, I do so want to see Hamlet!”
“Yes, Hamlet; that was it. And then there was a ghost in it that sent the shivers down my back; ’n’ a king ’n’ queen; ’n’ the king looked for all the world like Deacon Ember, Jenny Lowe’s grandpa, that died before you was born; ’n’ I declare, I did enjoy it! ’Twas jest like bein’ alive in history times! Why, I ain’t had sech shivers down my spine22’s the ghost give me, sence that day, till I seen you standin’ there tryin’ to wash your hands without any water, ’n’ your eyes rollin’ fit to scare the cat!”
“Would you like to have me do it again for you, Miss Becky?” asked Nan, springing to her feet with renewed ardour. And straightway she stationed herself at the end of the little room and began propelling herself forward with occasional erratic23 halts.
The September sunshine came slanting24 through the tiny panes25 of glass at the window, and touched with impartial26 grace 201 the youthful figure of distracted mien27, the worsted tidies on the haircloth sofa, and the neat alpaca occupant of the stuffed “rocker.” Again the sewing was forgotten, and Miss Becky’s glittering spectacles were fixed28 upon the tragic queen. As the queer little figure stalked solemnly down the room, eyes fixed in a glassy stare, hands wringing29 one another distressfully; as a moving wail30 rent the air, to the effect that “all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand,” a most agreeable succession of shivers made a highway of Miss Becky’s spine.
“Why don’t you ever go to the theatre now, Miss Becky?” Nannie asked, when, having laid aside her tragic toggery, she came in her own person to take her leave. “I should think you’d like to go again.”
“Oh, yes, I should be reel tickled31 to go again, but I ain’t got nobody to go with, and, well—there’s other reasons besides.”
“All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.”
202
Nannie blushed to think how inconsiderate she had been to force her old friend to allude32, even indirectly33, to her poverty, and she walked up the dusty road to her own gate, filled with compunction. Just outside the gate was a little wilderness34 of goldenrod and asters. She thought what a pity it was they should get so gray with dust. Poor things, they could not help it; they had to stay where chance had planted them unless somebody picked them and carried them away, and even then they left their roots behind them. Somehow they made her think of Miss Becky, living her little narrow, stationary35 life all alone in the old tumble-down farmhouse36. And just at this point in her reflections a delightful37 scheme came into her head.
Now, Nannie was the recipient38 of a slender monthly allowance intended for gloves and ruchings, postage stamps, and the like, and, having spent the last four months far from the allurements39 of city shops, she happened at this juncture40 to be in funds. Her stock of gloves, to be sure, was pretty well exhausted41, and Christmas was only a few months away. But Miss Becky was nearer still, and Nannie had no hesitation42 between the 203 two claims. As a natural consequence it happened that, one pleasant day early in October, Miss Becky, in her best black bonnet43, found herself steaming up to Boston, about to do Nannie “a real favour” by chaperoning her to the theatre. Miss Becky was so much impressed by the gravity of her responsibility that she hardly took in the fact that she was going to the theatre herself!
They were to see The Shaughraun—a play which her best friend had assured Nannie was “just great”; and as the train rushed up to town the young hostess was at a loss to decide whether she was happier on her own account or on Miss Becky’s. To be sure, she was just a little disappointed about Miss Becky, who seemed curiously44 silent and stiff; and when they came out of the station and walked up the crowded city street, the old lady held her by the sleeve and looked bewildered and frightened.
“How long is it since you’ve been in Boston?” Nannie asked, looking up into the anxious old face framed in the black 204 silk bonnet which looked twice as old-fashioned as ever before.
“Not sence Sophia was married ’n’ we came up to select her weddin’ gownd. I was quite a girl then, an’ I guess I felt more at home in a crowd than I do now. We don’t often hev much of a crowd out our way.”
They were among the first to take their seats at the theatre. Mr. Ray had got places for them only three rows back from the stage, and, once established there, Nannie felt that they were in a safe haven45, where her guest could grow calm and responsive again.
At first Miss Becky was almost too overawed to speak, but after a while she got the better of the situation and began telling Nannie all about Sophia and her “true-so,” and how they got lost on their way to the station and almost missed their train, which was the only train “out” in old times.
“I do hope we sha’n’t miss our train to-night, my dear! It doos seem’s though we might ’f they don’t begin pretty soon,” 205 and the old lady—for a very old lady she seemed to have become all of a sudden—fidgeted in her chair, and looked over her shoulder to see if the seats were not filling up.
“We sha’n’t lose our train, Miss Becky,” Nannie assured her. “You know it doesn’t go until half-past five o’clock, and the play is always over before five. And even if we did miss it we could take the seven-fifteen.”
“Oh, dear, no! I sh’d feel reel bad to miss the train. Why, it gits dark by six o’clock, ’n’ ’twouldn’t be safe for us to be goin’ round the city streets after dark. We might git garroted or, or—spoken to! Dear me! I wish they would begin!”
“If it gets late, Miss Becky, we won’t wait for the end of the play,” said Nannie, while a very distinct pang46 seized her at thought of missing anything.
“I think that would be better!” Miss Becky cried, with evident relief. “Don’t you think it might be better to go out a little early, anyway? They’ll be such a crowd when everybody tries to go out to 206 once that we might git delayed. My! what a sight of people there is already! And up in the galleries, too! Ain’t you ’most afeared to stay in sech a crowd?”
“Oh, no, Miss Becky. It’s just like this always, and nothing ever happens.”
“Them galleries don’t look strong enough to hold many people. Why, Nannie, see! They ain’t any pillows under ’em! What do you suppose keeps ’em up?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure; but they’re safe enough.”
At this point the orchestra struck up a popular tune47 and silence fell upon Miss Becky. She sat, stiff and severe, gazing straight before her, and when Nannie ventured to make a remark she received only a reproving look in reply.
How strange it was, Nannie thought! She had meant to give Miss Becky such a treat, and here sat her guest, looking anxious and distressed48—yes, more anxious and distressed than she looked a year ago when her cow died. But then the play had not begun yet, Nannie reflected, with a gleam of hope. When the play 207 had once begun, Miss Becky would forget all her worries and be as “tickled” as she had counted on her being. And when once the curtain had gone up, Nannie at least had no more misgivings49. Her fancy was instantly taken captive, first by the charming young officer and his pretty Irish sweetheart, then by the fine old priest, then by Con6 himself,—dear, droll50, happy-go-lucky Con, with his picturesque51 foibles, his bubbling humour, and his phenomenal virtues52. From the moment of his entry, with “Tatters” just not at his heels, Nannie was all smiles and tears.
Miss Becky, meanwhile, sat erect53 as a ramrod, a look of perplexity screwing her wrinkles all out of shape. Her bonnet had got somewhat askew54 from her constant effort to keep an eye on those unsupported galleries, and there was a general air of discomfort55 about her, which was the first thing that struck Nannie when, as the curtain fell upon the first act, she turned to look at her.
“Aren’t you enjoying it, Miss Becky?” she asked, with quick anxiety. 208
“Oh, yes, I’m hevin’ a reel pleasant time. ’T ain’t through yet, is it?”
“Why, no; it’s only just begun. There’s lots more! May Colby says that Con gets them all out of all their troubles and almost gets killed himself!”
“I sh’d think ’t would take a long time. Are you sure ’t ain’t most five o’clock?”
“Oh, no; it’s only three. See! And my watch is fast, too. Wasn’t it funny about the letter?”
“Well, I didn’t quite understand about that. What made ’em laugh so?”
“Why, that was because he couldn’t read, and so he had to make it all up out of his head.”
“Well!” declared Miss Becky, with strong disapproval56, “I don’t think he’d ought to hev deceived his mother that way; do you?”
This was a poser; but at that moment the orchestra came to the rescue with a new tune, and Nannie was spared the necessity of replying.
After that the play became every moment more exciting and the central figure 209 more entirely57 captivating, and even between the acts Nannie was preoccupied58 and unobservant. They had got to the prison scene, with all its ingenious intricacies of plot and stage machinery59; Con had accomplished60 the rescue, and was scrambling61 over the rocks, when suddenly the sharp report of a rifle rang out, followed by another, and then another, in quick succession.
Instantly Nannie felt her arm clutched, and she heard Miss Becky saying: “You must come right away, this very minute!”
“Oh, please not, Miss Becky,” she implored62.
But there was a resolute63 gleam in Miss Becky’s eye.
“Come right along, child,” she whispered, hoarsely64, “come right along with me!”—and poor Nannie, to her consternation65 and chagrin66, found herself absolutely obliged to follow.
The whole row of people stood up to let them pass, and every kind of look—glances of amusement and curiosity, of annoyance67 and of sympathy—followed the 210 oddly assorted68 pair, as they made their way out of the slip and then up the aisle69.
Once outside the door, the tension of Miss Becky’s face relaxed, but she did not waver in her determination.
“There, child!” she cried, as they walked down the slight incline of the long passageway to the street. “There! I am glad I had strength given me to do my duty by you!”
“But, Miss Becky, there wasn’t a bit of danger,” Nannie protested, bravely keeping the tears back in her cruel disappointment. “Really, there wasn’t. Won’t you please go back with me, and just stand inside the door and see the end of it? I’m sure they’d let us stand inside the door.”
“Nannie Ray,” Miss Becky replied, looking very fiercely at the girl’s flushed cheeks and imploring70 eyes, “if you knew as much about firearms as I do, you wouldn’t ask such a thing. But there! It’s jest because you’re young and inexperienced that your ma wanted me to come and look after you. I guess she’ll 211 be thankful she was so foresighted when she hears of the danger you was in.”
In her exultation71 and relief of mind, Miss Becky marched on, regardless of jostling crowds and thronging72 teams. Her whole attitude had changed. She was no longer the timid, shrinking old woman; she was the responsible guardian73, aware of the importance of her charge, and nothing was ever to convince her that she had not as good as saved Nannie’s life on that occasion.
Then Nannie, as became a hostess, accepted the situation with the best grace in the world.
“I tell you what let’s do, Miss Becky,” she said. “Let’s go and get some ice-cream. That is, if you like it.”
The stern old face relaxed.
“Oh, yes; I like ice-cream, especially vanilla74. But—do you think we’ve got time enough?”
“We’ve got an hour and a quarter before the train goes. Let’s come in here and get it.”
From the crowded street they passed 212 in at the doorway75 and walked between marble counters to what seemed to Miss Becky a scene in fairyland. Ascending76 two or three broad steps, on each side of which an antlered stag kept guard, they stepped upon a great carpeted space, lighted from above,—a space in the middle of which was a fountain, springing high into the air, and splashing back into a round basin lined with shining shells and pebbles77, over and among which goldfish swam and dove like animated78 jewels. Ferns and palms grew all about the basin, and in among the greenery was a little table where Nannie and her guest sat hidden safe away from the world.
“Well, this doos beat all!” the old lady exclaimed, gazing at the fountain with an expression of rapt delight—just the expression that Nannie had counted upon seeing among the wrinkles.
“Do you like it?” she asked, all her disappointment and chagrin forgotten.
“Like it? Why, it’s the most tasty place I was ever in! It’s better than any play; it’s like bein’ in a play yourself! 213 Jest see them pillows supportin’ that gallery! ’N’ them picters of tropical fruits! ’N’ this ice-cream! Why, it’s different from what we hev at the Sunday-school picnics! ’Pears to me it’s more creamy!”
Now, at last, Miss Becky had lost all thought of the passage of time. She took her ice-cream, just a little at a time, off the tip-end of her spoon, and with every mouthful the look of content grew deeper. One of the little cakes that were served with the ice-cream was a macaroon with a sugar swan upon it—“a reel little statoo of a swan,” Miss Becky called it. She could not be persuaded to eat it, but she studied it with such undisguised admiration79 that Nannie ventured to suggest that she take it home with her. Again Miss Becky was enchanted80. She wrapped it in her pocket-handkerchief, and placed it carefully in her reticule, whence it was to emerge only to enter upon a long and admired career as a parlour ornament81.
“And now, Miss Becky,” Nannie queried82, as they sat there embowered in palms 214 and ferns, listening to the plash of the fountain, “didn’t you enjoy the play at all?”
“Oh, yes,” said Miss Becky, “I had a very pleasant time before they got so reckless with their guns. But—I wonder whether they take sech pains with the the-etter’s they used to? Why, when I went with Uncle ’Bijah Lane that time, they all wore the most beautiful clothes. Even the men was dressed out in velvets and satins, and they wa’n’t anybody on the stage that didn’t make a good appearance.”
“But, you know, this was a different sort of play, Miss Becky. The folks in The Shaughraun weren’t kings and queens, but just every-day people.”
“Well, s’posin’ they was! I don’t see no excuse for that man Con goin’ round lookin’ so slack. I sh’d think he might at least git a whole coat to wear when he ’pears before the public!”
“I’m afraid you’re sorry you came,” said Nannie, very meekly83, feeling quite ashamed of her poor little party.
“Oh, no, I ain’t! Why, child, I’d hev 215 come barefoot to see this place here, with the founting a-splashin’ and the fishes a-gleamin’! Barefoot, I tell ye!”
It was a forcible expression, yet Nannie was not quite reassured84. She still demurred85.
“But the play was the principal thing, you know.”
“The play? Well, I don’t know,” said Miss Becky, thoughtfully. “I don’t know’s I’m so terrible sot on the theetter’s I thought for. I’d a good deal ruther hev you come over ’n do that sleep-walkin’ piece for me. I don’t want nothin’ better’n that. ’F I can see you act that once in a while, ’n’ hev this here Garding of Eden to think about,—a founting playin’ right in the house, ’n’ all,—I ain’t likely to want for amusement.”
The best bonnet was still very much askew, but the pleasant old face within, whose wrinkles had resumed their accustomed grooves86, was irradiated with a look of unmistakable beatitude; and somehow it was borne in upon Nannie that her theatre party had been a success after all.
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1
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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emulation
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| n.竞争；仿效 | |
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enacting
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的现在分词 ) | |
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perennial
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| adj.终年的；长久的 | |
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con
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| n.反对的观点，反对者，反对票，肺病；vt.精读，学习，默记；adv.反对地，从反面；adj.欺诈的 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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ruffle
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| v.弄皱，弄乱；激怒，扰乱；n.褶裥饰边 | |
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9
poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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strands
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| n.（线、绳、金属线、毛发等的）股( strand的名词复数 )；缕；海洋、湖或河的)岸；（观点、计划、故事等的）部份v.使滞留，使搁浅( strand的第三人称单数 ) | |
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12
treacherously
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| 背信弃义地； 背叛地； 靠不住地； 危险地 | |
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portentous
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| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
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cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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16
auditor
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| n.审计员，旁听着 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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lackadaisical
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| adj.无精打采的，无兴趣的；adv.无精打采地，不决断地 | |
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narration
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| n.讲述，叙述；故事；记叙体 | |
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spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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erratic
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| adj.古怪的，反复无常的，不稳定的 | |
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slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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impartial
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| adj.(in,to)公正的，无偏见的 | |
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mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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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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wringing
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| 淋湿的，湿透的 | |
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30
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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indirectly
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| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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stationary
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| adj.固定的，静止不动的 | |
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farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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recipient
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| a.接受的,感受性强的 n.接受者,感受者,容器 | |
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39
allurements
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| n.诱惑( allurement的名词复数 )；吸引；诱惑物；有诱惑力的事物 | |
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40
juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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41
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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42
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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43
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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44
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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45
haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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46
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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47
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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48
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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49
misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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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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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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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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askew
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| adv.斜地；adj.歪斜的 | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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assorted
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| adj.各种各样的，各色俱备的 | |
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aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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thronging
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的现在分词 ) | |
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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vanilla
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| n.香子兰，香草 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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demurred
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| v.表示异议，反对( demur的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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grooves
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| n.沟( groove的名词复数 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏v.沟( groove的第三人称单数 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏 | |
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