He was making another discovery—namely, that one can theorize very comfortably, but that when one transmutes6 theory into accomplished7 fact, theory has become practice, and speculations8 upon its results may be exceedingly unpleasant. Within the last twenty-four hours Kendall had translated one theory into a fact, and another fact had arrived, needing no transmutation. The theory was the little-moment-of-happiness theory, and the fact was a letter from his mother.
That morning after he had left Andree he was rather disappointed to find that he suffered no remorse9, experienced no sense of having done what he should have left undone10. Andree was Andree, sweet, good, lovable. Because she was so, and because of his certainty of her cleanness of soul, he felt no sense of degradation11 or of having transgressed12. He was even happy, rejoicing, boylike, in the sweetness of the gift of her love.... He found his mother’s letter at the office and, having read it, his romance was smirched with sordidness14, its beauty was dulled by the intrusion of harsh, unsparing, cold convention. The Middle West had intruded15 upon Paris, and he was discovering that there was much Middle West remaining alive in him.
His mother’s letter had said, and he could visualize16 her face as she wrote, severe, unyielding, harsh, forbidding:
I am sorry to hear that you are stationed in Paris. They say that Paris is a wicked city. Everybody says the French are loose and immoral17, which makes me worry about all our young men who are thrown with them. Your letter says that Paris is beautiful. It is not a good beauty, I have heard. Some one told me there were statues of naked women all over in the parks. I cannot understand how they allow such things; they must be bad, passionate18 men to allow it. I hope you will be very careful. You are young, and sometimes you are like your father, who is easily taken in. I am glad you do not speak that language, because you cannot get acquainted with French people. Those women have no morals; they are nasty creatures who just want to get hold of every penny you get. Some day you will want to marry a nice, clean American girl, and you have got to think about that. I don’t see why the war couldn’t have been some place else. Don’t ever look at one of them. They’re all atheists and that accounts for it....
There was more to the same effect. It reflected his mother perfectly19, and the sentiments of the people among whom his mother lived; it represented, in extreme terms, the sentiment of his home community.... And over against it all stood Andree! That such words should be used to apply to her was sacrilege!... Yet ... yet ... she was—no matter what he might argue in her favor—in the language of his people, Andree was not an honest woman....
The effect of the letter upon him, however, had been uncanny. While he read he was again in Detroit. His sensations were almost exactly those which he always felt as he entered the Presbyterian church with his father and mother—not as he sat down in the accustomed pew, but as he passed through the crowded little vestibule where bald, smug elders and bearded, smug deacons and severe-faced chairwomen of missionary20 boards held their court before the service, shaking hands with all who entered with that religious affability, that hushed and somber21 and severe welcome, which strove to counterfeit22 open-heartedness.... It was that vestibule, and not the church, not the sermon, not the hymns23 nor the songs, which personified Kendall’s religion and what his religion meant.... He had grown up among those elders and deacons and chairwomen, and he knew them—in the church. It was incomprehensible to him that they could have any interests or activities outside the church. The practice of religion in that place seemed to him to be the sole occupations of their lives, and when he met one of them in the secular24 world of a week-day in the act of selling goods, or of handling money in a bank, or of anything else which savored25 of business and earning a living, Ken1 had the sort of feeling one has when he detects a person in something unusual and a bit discreditable. Why, those persons were the church!... And the thoughts of those persons were the thoughts of Kendall’s home world, thoughts among which he had been raised from babyhood.... So, as he read, he was transported to that vestibule—and that vestibule’s occupants smugly set the stain of guilt26 upon him and rolled eyes of horror at Andree.... He had been seeing Paris with something that approximated the eyes of Paris—now he was seeing it with the eyes of the vestibule of the Presbyterian church.
Before him stretched the magnificent avenue, crowded, as dusk descended27, with pleasure-seeking Parisians: he regarded it—regarded it as a spectator, an utter outsider. It was as if he looked at the scene from a window in the Presbyterian church. The two worlds stood starkly28 facing each other, challenging each other—the civilization that was Paris and the civilization that had its expression in the occupants of the church vestibule. Kendall saw, with something very like to fear, that they could not be reconciled, that neither contained a starting-point which would lead to understanding of the other.... And yet he, springing from the one, felt that he understood both. He was drawn29 to the one while the other clung to him tenaciously30.
It was not that his mother’s letter made him feel guilt; it was rather that it made him feel as if he ought to be conscious of wrong-doing. He ought to feel wicked and degraded, but he could not, and the fact that he could not seemed in itself to convict him of sin.... It was only when he thought of Andree that any semblance31 of stability came upon his thinking. There could be no argument about Andree. He had studied her, known her, loved her—and she was good. No church vestibule, no dogmatic elder, not even his mother, should say Andree was anything but good. He got some happiness out of that thought; Andree was an oasis32 of safety for him. He was capable of distinguishing between evil and virtue33, he thought, and he had studied Andree as he had never studied any other living being. From the first moment of their acquaintance he had not perceived in her one quality, one emotion, one tendency that was not sweet, womanly, kindly34, lovable, springing from a heart of purity.... How could a girl, proved to his intelligence to be good, be otherwise than good? How was it that any act of hers might be brought into question? Why was he questioning his righteousness because of his relations with her when her righteousness because of her relations with him were not open to question? It was very confusing. Could two individuals share an act and one of them be good and the other bad because of it? That sounded like a violation35 of some natural law as, for instance, that two solids cannot occupy the same space at the same instant.... Or was he wholly wrong? Could his judgment36 of her and of Paris and of the whole French nation be mistaken?... It might even be that Paris was not beautiful, as he had seen it beautiful, or that the French nation was not really sturdy, glowing with virility37, heroic, as its deeds had seemed to prove it to be, but squalid, decadent38....
He began to walk rapidly, as was his custom when in mental difficulty, and as he walked he knew the keen discomfort39 of a soul in turmoil40.... He tried not to think about it, to put it out of his mind, and to find pleasure in the evening and in the dusk-softened beauties of the city, but his mind would not obey. He had a sensation of being terribly awake, of the blinding glow as of a tremendously powerful white light inside his head. His thoughts seemed to function independently of him, and himself to be an audience present to observe and listen to their activities. There was something ghastly about it, something unreal....
He strode around the Arc de Triomphe and thence down the Champs élysées until he reached the Palais des Beaux-Arts, and there he turned to his right, crossing the Pont Alexandre III, marvelously beautiful in the half-light. He did not pause to admire the river and the city’s sky-line as he had so often done, but turned again, this time to his left, and followed the Quai d’Orsay, clinging to the bank of the Seine until he was opposite the Cité and in the familiar open space of the Place St.-Michel.
Again he turned and followed the broad boulevard up which he had walked again and again with Andree. Perhaps that was why he had come to the locality, drawn subconsciously41 into a region of such associations. Perhaps there had been hidden in some recess42 of his mind the hope that he might encounter her, and so feel her presence and sense her goodness and verify his judgment.
At the corner of the Boulevard St.-Michel and the equally broad rue4 Soufflot is a café whose tables and chairs crowded the sidewalk. It was still light enough to distinguish the crowd of people who patronized the place, sipping43 coffee from small goblets44 or drinking wine or that strange beverage45 kept in bottles which Paris believes to be lemonade.... He glanced carelessly at the café, then he stopped, peered again intently with a sudden up-leap of the pulse, for at a table near the end sat a girl in white, wearing a white tam-o’-shanter. This alone would not have halted Kendall, rather it would have urged him forward with eager haste, but the girl was not alone. A man occupied the chair at her side, bending over her with that eagerness which is not to be mistaken in a young man, that eagerness which apprises46 all the watching world that he is in the act of making love....
At the end of the café were a number of small potted trees reaching almost to the awning47 above. Kendall, unconscious that it was jealousy48 that dictated49 his movements, drew near cautiously to peer over the foliage50 at that adjacent table, to assure himself if it were Andree or not.... It was Andree, and her companion was Monsieur Robert, of the Comédie Fran?aise....
Quick suspicion is a natural result of the thing that the vestibule of the Presbyterian church, as Kendall knew it, stood for. Intolerance has for its favorite child Suspicion, Acute Suspicion, which convicts without trial and, if subsequent trial goes against it, asserts that the jury was tampered52 with. It was one of Kendall’s inheritances. He had been raised under the influence of constant suspicion. He himself had been suspected; he was used to seeing the most trivial events suspected. His mother, for instance, knew instantly that any happening which came under her eye and about which she was not fully53 informed meant something bad. It was never the way of that body of society in which he had been brought up to think the best when a trifle of imagination would enable it to think the worst—and to-night Kendall was peculiarly under the influence of his inheritances.... He suspected. A natural jealousy deepened his suspicion. Monsieur Robert’s profession deepened it further, and Andree’s often stated ambition to become an actress carried it to more profound depths. Suspicion may own a specious54 logic55: Andree declared it was necessary for her to undertake a stage career. To do so it was necessary to enter the Académie. To enter the Académie it was necessary to interest the influence of some actor of prominence56, and she had more than once hoped for this intervention57. Ken himself had introduced her to this Monsieur Robert with that end in view.... And Jacques, perhaps in jest, perhaps in earnest, had warned him to beware of Monsieur Robert, or that handsome young actor would steal Andree from him. Hence Robert must have that sort of reputation.... And, therefore, Robert was with Andree at this moment for that purpose.... Again, what more natural and logical than that Andree should be willing to purchase her career, and that, even at this very moment, the agreement was being made.... Or, perhaps, had been made before, and he had been deceived already! Undoubtedly58 that was it....
The part of him inherited from his mother was in complete control now; he was narrow, certain in suspicion, hard, willing to be cruel. All that was worst in Roundhead, Puritan, Pilgrim Father was apparent in him. He had seen, and, in the instant of seeing, the pendulum59 of his character had swung to the uppermost point of its arc on the side opposed to tolerance51, a reasonable philosophy, and the wider things toward which he had been growing since he came to France....
“Mother was right,” he said to himself, “they were all right. I’ve been fooled and I’ve been a fool.... And I thought she was good!... This damn, miserable60 country—if ever I can get out of it back to where decent people live....”
Almost exactly twenty-four hours ago he had held Andree in his arms, loving her and believing in her love. He remembered it, recalled the sweetness of last evening, Andree’s tender sweetness, which could have been nothing but designing and duplicity.... And now this.... He despised her and he despised himself. A beautiful dream had become a sordid13 reality....
How much of all this was due to a sudden perception of right and how much to boyish jealousy and a sharp hurt to a boyish heart he did not know. It did not occur to him to ask.... He had been made a fool of. He was furious with what he took to be righteous anger; what he did not know was that as soon as she passed there would come the most poignant61 grief he had ever known; the grief that comes only when a beautiful something has crept into one’s life to be snatched away brutally62, leaving in its nest something squalid, unsightly, disgusting.
For a moment he was on the point of confronting Andree and Monsieur Robert, but he restrained himself. There would be a scene; probably he would thrash Robert—and to what good?... He glared at them a moment longer, then turned away and almost ran down the boulevard.... He was not thinking now, only suffering.
Presently he found himself repeating over and over to himself: “Andree, how could you?... Andree, how could you?...” Rage was departing, grief and disillusionment were taking its place. Presently he came to a Metro63 station and plunged64 downward. The train would carry him home faster than he could walk, and he wanted to be home, to shut himself up, to be alone. He wanted to feel that doors and walls were between him and all the world.... It was the sort of feeling which, long continued, drives men into religious orders, makes of them Trappists, Cistercians.... Shelter and silence were what Kendall wanted—to crawl away into some hiding-place where he might make the most of his suffering.
He ran up the stairs of the apartment, snatched the key from under the rug, and threw open the door. The apartment was lighted. He paused. Madeleine and Bert were in the salon65, and both appeared in the door to greet him. They called to him gaily66, but Kendall did not reply. He scowled67 at them and flung himself past them without a word, to disappear in his room and slam the door.
“Qu’est-ce que c’est?” exclaimed Madeleine, and then laughed. “Beaucoup zigzag68!”
“No,” said Bert, staring after his friend, “he doesn’t drink. Something’s up. Something’s happened.”
“It is Andree,” Madeleine said, with a shake of her head. “I know. Oui.... It is plain to read. Jaloux. Oh yes. I know the signs. Pauvre enfant! He is ver’ jealous. There is no other anger like it—none.”
“What had I better do?”
“Not anything. That is best.... He mus’ be lef’ alone—him.... But I do not theenk—Andree love heem. I could see. He is not glad.... But what would you? It is not nice to be jealous. One suffers. But I theenk he make the mistake—yes.”
“Anyhow, he’s in an awful stew69. Seems like I ought to do something.”
“No—he would behave like one sauvage. It is to make to leave him alone. To-morrow, perhaps....”
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1
ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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ware
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| n.(常用复数)商品，货物 | |
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modification
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| n.修改，改进，缓和，减轻 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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transmutes
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| v.使变形，使变质，把…变成…( transmute的第三人称单数 ) | |
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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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speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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transgressed
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| v.超越( transgress的过去式和过去分词 )；越过；违反；违背 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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sordidness
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| n.肮脏；污秽；卑鄙；可耻 | |
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intruded
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| n.侵入的，推进的v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 )；把…强加于 | |
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visualize
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| vt.使看得见，使具体化，想象，设想 | |
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immoral
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| adj.不道德的，淫荡的，荒淫的，有伤风化的 | |
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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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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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somber
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| adj.昏暗的，阴天的，阴森的，忧郁的 | |
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counterfeit
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| vt.伪造，仿造；adj.伪造的，假冒的 | |
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hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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secular
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| n.牧师，凡人；adj.世俗的，现世的，不朽的 | |
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savored
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| v.意味，带有…的性质( savor的过去式和过去分词 )；给…加调味品；使有风味；品尝 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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starkly
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| adj. 变硬了的,完全的 adv. 完全,实在,简直 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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tenaciously
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| 坚持地 | |
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semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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oasis
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| n.（沙漠中的）绿洲，宜人的地方 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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violation
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| n.违反(行为)，违背(行为)，侵犯 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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virility
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| n.雄劲，丈夫气 | |
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decadent
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| adj.颓废的，衰落的，堕落的 | |
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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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turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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subconsciously
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| ad.下意识地，潜意识地 | |
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recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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goblets
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| n.高脚酒杯( goblet的名词复数 ) | |
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beverage
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| n.(水，酒等之外的)饮料 | |
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apprises
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| v.告知，通知( apprise的第三人称单数 )；评价 | |
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awning
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| n.遮阳篷；雨篷 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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tolerance
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| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
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52
tampered
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| v.窜改( tamper的过去式 )；篡改；（用不正当手段）影响；瞎摆弄 | |
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53
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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specious
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| adj.似是而非的；adv.似是而非地 | |
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logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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prominence
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| n.突出；显著；杰出；重要 | |
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intervention
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| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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pendulum
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| n.摆，钟摆 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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brutally
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| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
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metro
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| n.地铁；adj.大都市的；(METRO)麦德隆(财富500强公司之一总部所在地德国，主要经营零售) | |
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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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salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68
zigzag
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| n.曲折，之字形；adj.曲折的，锯齿形的；adv.曲折地，成锯齿形地；vt.使曲折；vi.曲折前行 | |
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69
stew
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| n.炖汤，焖，烦恼；v.炖汤，焖，忧虑 | |
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