He met her in the court and asked what had happened. Nacha, speechless, held out her hand to him. She seemed crushed, defeated by life. Monsalvat felt certain that something serious must have happened, or Nacha, reserved as she always was, would never have clung in such fashion to his hand in the presence of others. Heads were poked4 out of the windows and the women and some of the men talking or working in the patio5 looked at one another and began to laugh. However, Monsalvat and Nacha were too much preoccupied6 by their anxiety to separate. Monsalvat took Nacha to her room, supporting her by an arm; and there she told him what had happened.
She had for some days recently felt tired and ill, the result of standing7 so many hours at a stretch, and so frequently climbing three or four pairs of stairs, as the employees were not allowed to use the elevators. That afternoon she had been ordered to carry a mannequin down several flights. She demurred8, saying that her strength would give out; but the manager turned a deaf ear. Laden9 with the heavy wooden figure, she reached the bottom of the first flight, staggering and faint with the strain. She set it down resolved to go no further with it; but a message reached her to the effect that if she did not comply with her orders, she would be dismissed. So she attempted to go down another flight, some of the employees laughing at the ridiculous figure she presented, others silently pitying her. She tried to pull herself together for a final effort, went down a few steps, and then—she did not know how it happened—she fell, and rolled down a half flight to the landing. When she regained10 consciousness, she found herself surrounded by employees. The manager, watch in hand, was observing her, and the mannequin lay in pieces near by. She asked to go home and was told that she would forfeit11 her pay for the hours she was absent, also for the time during which she had lain unconscious. That explained the manager's presence with his watch! And somehow this last cruelty, trifling12 as it was, took the heart out of her. What was she but a slave, worth only so many hours work to her owner? Then she was also told that she must pay for the mannequin.—Pay for it? Cold, frightened, wide-eyed, she had scarcely understood what they were saying. Pay, yes, pay so much every month, ten dollars a month knocked off her salary. That was what they meant. "How was she going to live on what was left?" "You can manage," they replied. "That's your business, not ours." She had no strength to argue the matter. Money, tradition, power were all against her. Probably they had right on their side too, as they had everything else!
When Monsalvat left her, he found Mauli and some others of his neighbors near the door. They grimaced13 at him. The caretaker, who had just left the group, to avoid Fernando's seeing him, stepped into a doorway14 and turned his back. Monsalvat passed by quite indifferent to the manoeuvre15.
But no sooner was he out of sight than the man turned around and went to Nacha's door and knocked. Nacha, still crying, let him in. He was a person of disagreeable aspect, due chiefly to his over-meek and righteous expression, and his trick of keeping his eyes on the ground, and never looking at anyone he was speaking to. He never laughed, and walked very softly, with his arms close to his body. To his tenants16 he was merciless. Should they perchance fall two weeks behind with their rent, they were dispossessed even though sick in bed. A coward, he could nevertheless always count on the protection of the police in case of need.
"I have come ... Miss—(or would Madame, perhaps, be more appropriate?) to say that I am obliged—to give you notice. I hope you understand. Your conduct in this house cannot be allowed by any one who takes his responsibilities—as I hope I take mine—seriously. My landlady17 has the utmost confidence in me, and, under the circumstances...."
Nacha did not understand. She looked at the deceptive18, hypocritical face, trying to guess what words it was going to utter. She could not imagine what this man wanted of her.
"There now—you're playing innocent. Well, I don't like to explain too much in detail.... It would be better if you noticed for yourself that this is a decent house, and it isn't a house where women—ah—women, such as you.... Ha! Ha! In short, Miss, or Missus, no more calls from gentlemen! If you want that kind of thing, you know, there are ... well, there are places...."
"You are mistaken!" cried Nacha, suddenly springing to her feet.
The man lowered his eyes with an exaggeration of humility19, and seemed to shrink, as he replied: "Of course we are all human, and of course, likely to make mistakes. Ha-ha! But we know something about you, Miss. No, I'm not saying anything ... but.... Can you deny having lived in a certain "house" on —— Street, eh? Am I mistaken about that, eh? Ha ha!"
Nacha, in a fury, drew near him. She was impelled20 to strike him and drive him out of there by main force; but she thought of the scandal it would cause, and of Monsalvat; and she remembered that the odious21 creature in front of her had certain powers, as representing the landlady: he was the figurehead for a multi-millionairess, ruling for her, collecting her rents.... To prevent her losing thirty or forty dollars he put the hungry or the sick out on the street, or widows with their broods of children. It was his function to turn over the entire amount of monthly rent to the fine lady, his employer, so that she could eventually distribute handsome sums to convents and sisterhoods!
"For all of me, Miss, you could stay. I don't interfere22 with people's business. But the landlady—ha-ha!—doesn't want women of your kind...."
Nacha was losing her self-possession, and with a scream of anger, she broke out, "Shut up, you devil! What kind? Get out of here this instant, you coward!"
He opened the door and from the threshold shouted so that every one could hear him, but all the while keeping his appearance of humility:
"What kind? Your kind, Missus, and we don't want none of your kind here!"
Nacha threw herself on the floor, trembling, and with no strength left; and she heard a laugh, cruel and startling, coming up from the patio. It went through her like a knife. Her whole being rebelled. She wanted to shout out in protest; but she could only be vanquished23. Then a chill crept in through her body to her very heart and soul. She shook for hours in its grip.
Monsalvat knew nothing of what had happened; for it chanced that he had lessons to give that evening and during the moment when he stopped at Nacha's room on his return from supper, she did not let him see how ill she was. He was still concerned about her accident at the store, and urged her not to take it too much to heart. He was going to sell his tenement24 very soon, and whatever money he received from it would be hers.
Three nights a week Monsalvat held classes for some of the workmen in the district. He had begun with three or four pupils, but they had increased in numbers until now he had a class of twenty or thirty. They all knew how to read. He talked to them about history, about the different countries he had travelled in, about ethics25. His simple eloquence26 attracted these simple workers. As he commented upon some of the day's occurrences, or a passage in some book, he summoned before them a vision of a new society, of an era of love, and justice. At such times his voice rang with human sympathy and a strange mystic fervor27.
But on that night Monsalvat could not speak to his class in this strain; for there was hate in his heart. The cruel treatment Nacha had suffered in the store had stirred him to the depths of his consciousness, and a multitude of details accumulated there and forgotten, had risen to the surface, looming28 large with sudden significance.
As the workmen filed into the room they shook hands with Monsalvat and exchanged a few words with him. He always asked after their children, or their wives and mothers. Then most of them sat down. A few preferred to stand, leaning against the wall.
"Today," he was saying, "I came to understand something which I have never understood before, though it is something true, something fundamental! I have been talking to you about love's power to change the world. Well, I was wrong! Love cannot transform the world. It is nineteen hundred years since the world heard the most sublime29 definition of love. None since has surpassed it, for none can. Yet this love, in spite of the example given us with its definition, has accomplished30 nothing. What then can we accomplish? If the words that were spoken those many years ago have never been understood by mankind, that must mean that men will never understand any words of love. So then, we must preach hate. For to preach love is to become the accomplice31 of injustice32. To preach love is to work for the preservation33 of things as they are, to wait for the advent34 of a day that will never come! Love is almost always passive, inert35. Hate is action. Hate will give us strength; and with this strength we shall succeed in winning the world to love. This then is what we must do. Through hate, move on to love. Through violence, the instrument of hate, impose peace, fraternity, justice! Moreover, when we use hate and violence, we who are the underdogs, you and I, my friends, will only be using the methods used toward us. Those who control, despise and hate us, and use violence against us every moment of their lives. They have organized hate and violence. They use force not only in secret, but in broad daylight. I have seen how they use it on the human body, its life and health, imposing36 monstrous37 and destructive tasks on human beings! I have seen how they use it on human minds, condemning38 them to eternal ignorance! I have seen them use it on women, and on children. Even those who come to us with gentle words, hate us and only want our servitude to continue. No, my friends. Love will not set us free. Will the British shareholder39 who receives enormous dividends40 for his capital invested in our railroads, in our large stores, in our packing houses, listen to the voice of love? Will the tenement landlords who throw women and sick children out on the street listen to the voice of love? Do you believe they will? Will they listen to any language other than that of check and bank note? But there is another language which they can understand even though they don't want to, the language of our violence!"
His pupils listened, motionless, but stirred. Some of them seemed uneasy, as at the memory of a wrong; others looked at their teacher with pity and with pain; others appeared rapt in a vision of new worlds. It was evident too that more than one of them had difficulty in understanding, and that nearly all of them were trying to establish a relation between their own past and the words they were listening to. For they had led lives of suffering always. They knew squalor, and hunger; but with the years they had grown accustomed to misery41 and poverty.
There was a pause. No one moved. No one, not even Monsalvat, dared to speak. Something impressive was there among those men, like a visible presence, and they seemed all to be gazing at it; and it was everywhere. It was in each one of them, and in their comrade's eyes, in the echo of their teacher's words that haunted their ears, in the deep stillness of the room, in the rapid beating of their hearts.
The silence continued. One man tried to speak, but he looked about him at his listeners, and said no more. At last they understood that there was nothing to say, and they all got up simultaneously42. One by one they shook hands with Monsalvat. Never had those hands of theirs seemed so warm, so vibrant43, so vigorous. Some of the men had tears in their eyes, one could not have told whether from joy or sadness.
When his class had gone, Monsalvat felt that he had accomplished an act of justice, that he had taken a step, at least, toward the world's transformation44. Living as he did on sentiment and imagination, with little or no sense of reality, he believed in the efficacy of the vague abstract formulas he preached. In his ardent45 desire for a better world there was a deal of mysticism: he lacked concrete rules, plans of action, the realization46 that discipline is the basis of progress. In his individualistic and lyric47 exaltation, he imagined that by means of the just and tragic48 emotions of revolt, such as he had that evening preached, and only through such means, could a better society be brought about.
The next day he received a summons from the police. He was not disturbed; but he supposed that the secret-service had reported him. On arriving at headquarters he was led to the chief's office, where he found himself face to face with an official personage who affected49 Napoleonic brusqueness and thoroughness, and tried hard, in spite of a sharp, thin face, to look like that Conqueror50. Monsalvat knew him, which did not prevent the chief's adopting a condescending51 manner towards him.
"It's a bad plan, my good fellow, to talk as you've been doing," the officer said, slowly walking up and down, his hand on his sword-belt, and putting a degree more of stiffness into his rigidly52 erect53 carriage. "Dangerous theories.... It's incomprehensible to me that a man of your station in life should plot against our government, against our country—as if conditions here were not the best to be found anywhere! As if anyone who wanted to couldn't become rich in this country! You people get a few ideas out of anarchist54 literature, and lose your heads over them. All that stuff comes from your old and rotting Europe. It has no possible application in a country like this, where every man has a chance, where no one need go hungry, where no one can complain of injustice...."
Monsalvat, who was staring hard at the orator55, started, then looked his amazement56. Surely the man was joking! But no, he was perfectly57 serious, and perfectly convinced. Monsalvat then remembered having heard this identical speech a hundred, a thousand times before. Worse than that, he remembered having written those very words himself! It was not likely that he would be convinced by all this, nor attempt an answer. Even the Chief of Police was aware of that, and ended the interview. Before dismissing Monsalvat, however, he made him read a social law which he was formulating58. Monsalvat glanced through it and took himself off, honoring the officer with the slightest of bows.
Although the incident was trifling, it depressed59 Monsalvat. It made clear to him what he had become in this last year he had lived through. Standing in that room at Police Headquarters, observing the chief's attitude towards him, interpreting the mere60 fact of his being thus summoned, he saw clearly both what he had been, and what he had ceased being. Before, he had had position, money, a flattering reputation, friends. Now he had nothing; he was but a poor devil, at the mercy of the police. And all for what? What had he accomplished in a year? He had lifted three or four women out of the gutter61, taught a few men to read—but what did that signify in the infinite sea of human misery and ignorance? Monsalvat was strong in his convictions and in his moral health, strong with love of the good, strong in gentleness and pity; but now doubt was for the moment stronger than he, and he knew the all-permeating bitterness of temptation. In a moment of moral weakness he thought of giving up this hopeless task, of returning to his own world, and to his former station in it. A sadness, as vast as the universe, chilled his heart, and soul, and mind. He was wandering alone and forgotten in a ghastly wilderness62; and this loneliness in the death-like, icy solitude63 of the world was too frightful64 to endure. He had sought out this life he was leading for the good of others; he had given what he had to others; he had devoted65 himself to his task, with joy and faith, with physical and moral courage; but now he broke down, for his whole life seemed a failure; he wept for that Monsalvat of whom he had hoped so much, not knowing that the strongest falter66 on their way and that such weaknesses are but a respite67, a halt, giving renewed strength to go on with the day's march!
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1
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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suffocating
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| a.使人窒息的 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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patio
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| n.庭院，平台 | |
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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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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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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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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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forfeit
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| vt.丧失；n.罚金，罚款，没收物 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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grimaced
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| v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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manoeuvre
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| n.策略，调动；v.用策略，调动 | |
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tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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deceptive
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| adj.骗人的，造成假象的，靠不住的 | |
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humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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tenement
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| n.公寓；房屋 | |
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ethics
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| n.伦理学；伦理观，道德标准 | |
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eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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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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sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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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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accomplice
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| n.从犯，帮凶，同谋 | |
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injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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preservation
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| n.保护，维护，保存，保留，保持 | |
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advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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condemning
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| v.（通常因道义上的原因而）谴责( condemn的现在分词 )；宣判；宣布…不能使用；迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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shareholder
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| n.股东，股票持有人 | |
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dividends
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| 红利( dividend的名词复数 )； 股息； 被除数； （足球彩票的）彩金 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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vibrant
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| adj.震颤的，响亮的，充满活力的，精力充沛的，(色彩)鲜明的 | |
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44
transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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lyric
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| n.抒情诗，歌词；adj.抒情的 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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50
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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51
condescending
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| adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
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52
rigidly
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| adv.刻板地，僵化地 | |
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53
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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anarchist
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| n.无政府主义者 | |
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orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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56
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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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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formulating
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| v.构想出( formulate的现在分词 )；规划；确切地阐述；用公式表示 | |
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59
depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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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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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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66
falter
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| vi.(嗓音)颤抖，结巴地说；犹豫；蹒跚 | |
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respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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