I have seen this place. It is marvelous, and strangely effective morally. Bad people get a somnambulant look there, because they are sleepwalking in their virtues6. They get a look of na?ve innocence7; or, if the system of moral compensation in them is broken, they take a horrified8 look around and escape on the next train.
One morning, so early that the day was still a gray cavern9 between earth and sky with the wild March winds whirling in it, a slender woman descended10 from a taxicab at the gateway11 to the drive[238] which led down the mountain slope to this Inn. She wore a blue coat with a fur collar drawn12 close about her fair face, a small fur hat with an exceeding vivid rose tucked into the band of thicker fur around the crown and fitted so snugly13 that a mere14 line of her bright hair showed beneath. She had eyes the color of blue flowers, paler than violets, the kind that always look up at you meaningly from the cold ground in March—but you do not know what they mean—exactly as this woman’s eyes looked upward and abroad now beneath the narrow sweeping15 line of her swallow-winged brows.
She was not young; she was touched with the same sadness of those pale blue flowers above the winter earth. But she appeared young in this half light of the early dawn. Any man at the sight of her, swinging gracefully16 down the winding17 road between the naked trees, beneath the pearling skies of daybreak, might have conceived the idea of courting her. But he would have dismissed it instantly after a nearer reading look. He would have perceived that she was already “taken,” that she belonged either to a man or to his children. She was not in the possessive case.
She loitered along the way, as one familiar with[239] this place, looking for remembered things, ferns between the rocks, puffs18 of green moss19 above these rocks, flashes of wild azalea deeply bowered22 among the laurel bushes, tall stalks of shooting star blossoms white against the gray bluff23, and a path leading from the roadway up the side of the bluff. I suppose there is not even one little high place on this earth which has not somewhere upon it a path that goes to the top. And frequently the idlest people in the world make them. It is due to the futile24 persistence25 of the altar instinct in them.
She had come down into the paved plaza26 in front of the Inn before the porter carrying her bags overtook her. She followed him through the door and paused at the breath-taking majesty27 of this huge room. Filled with guests, its dignity was diminished; but bare and solemn and silent in this early morning hour, it was tremendous. She cast a glance upward at the rough walls, scrolled28 over with those mighty29 texts taken from the Scriptures30 that men have made for themselves, but not one from Moses or the Prophets—the idea being, I suppose, not to open the bleeding wounds of conscience in many guests by reminders31 too authoritatively32 worded about their sins and trespasses33.
[240]She caught sight of one at last from Marcus Aurelius as if she had been looking for it. The wisdom of it did not apply to her case, but it soothed34 her for that reason, because she remembered it as an exit she used to take from her unhappy thoughts during those first months of her unnatural35 widowhood. When you are bedridden within by a secret grief, these old negative philosophers are very good drug doctors for your complaints. This is why so many miserable37 women take to the narcotics38 of theosophy and other forms of recumbent mysticisms. They are mental opiates.
“Good morning, Mrs. Cutter! Glad to see you back here,” the night clerk said, smiling sleepy-eyed at her as she approached the desk. He swung the register around and offered her a pen.
“You received my wire?” she asked, when she had written her name.
“Yes, and fortunately we were able to reserve the same room for you,” he answered, evidently referring to a request which she had wired.
“Shall you want a car, as usual, Mrs. Cutter?” he called after her as she was about to enter the elevator.
“Not until this afternoon. How are the roads?”
[241]“Very good, at least your favorite one is,” he assured her.
She had come to this Inn immediately after Cutter left her the previous year. She had recovered her health of mind and strength of body in this quiet place; she had profited by the patterns of peace and imagination it afforded; and she had spent much time visiting fine old houses, studying the manners, ways and clothes of the people who came and went. She acquired for the first time in her life some feeling and sense of elegance39, lines and colors. And it was here that she met the architect who drew the plans for remodeling her house at Shannon.
She resumed her old diversions now. She mingled40 little with the other guests, but spent her time driving about the country. She was still oppressed by the rude awakening41 she had, that last day in Shannon, to the fact that she loved and longed for her husband. She was disturbed and humiliated42 by this revelation, as one is by the awakening of some weakness we believe we have outgrown43.
The issue constantly in her mind was whether, after all, it would not be wiser to give up her house in Shannon and live this idle, pleasant existence. There were no associations here to remind[242] her of the past. And in spite of her huge expense in the effort to destroy these memories, it was after she came back to Shannon that the old pain and unhappiness had returned to overwhelm her. Then this issue was settled for her with a horrible, irrevocable decision, and she was flung violently back upon the one refuge, her house in Shannon, and the one plan she had for substituting love with affection, which she had been on the point of abandoning.
One evening she came down late for dinner, passed through the swinging doors and sat down at the table reserved for her, which was near these doors. The room was filled with week-end guests. She had an excellent view of this brilliant company. There were handsomely gowned women, rouged44 and sparkling with jewels; there were more men than were usually to be seen at leisure during this man-grasping war period; and quite a sprinkling of military officers, evidently on leave from Washington.
Helen had given her order and sat idly scanning the scene before her, listening to snatches of conversation from the nearer tables.
She was barely enough like these other women in her ivory-white, embroidered45 Canton crêpe not to attract attention. She was pale, as[243] they were painted. Her hair lay in a soft golden coil on her head, where their hair ruffled46 in a thousand glistening47 convolutions. Her lips were parted, showing the lapped edge of the two white teeth. The dark lashes21 of her eyes were more apparent, because of the blueness of these eyes and of the whiteness of her skin.
Once she caught the steady, dark gaze of a woman seated directly opposite her, but at a distant table. She lifted her own glance and hurried by this overhead route back to the bunch of violets in the vase on her own table. She could not have told why she did this, probably for the same reason one flinches48 and draws back from the sudden flash of a brilliant flame. She sat staring at the violets, wondering about this woman, not intelligently, with a sort of amazement49 which was not pleasant. Never before had she seen such a fury of commanding beauty. She thought she must be tall. She was very dark—olive skin, flushed like a velvet50 rose; black hair, daringly coiffured and heightened by a Spanish comb; a straight, imperious nose; a fine-lipped mouth, red and cruelly turned to mirth. But the fury of her beauty lay in the smoking black eyes. And the maroon51 velvet gown she wore seemed somehow to enhance the heat of terrible, searing[244] beauty, as if the body of this woman had been forged, slim and strong, in a furnace and still glowed dangerously and dully.
Helen wondered why she had not seen her when she entered the dining room, for now she could almost hear her crackle. Yet she did not look up again in that direction. There was a man at the table with this woman, she knew; but she had been so startled by the native malice52 of those dark eyes that she had only a blurred53 impression of his back.
Suddenly there was a sound in this place where the confused murmur54 of many voices made a thousand sounds. It was the rich, rollicking laugh of a man, one high note quickly suppressed.
Helen stiffened55, her hand flew to her breast as if she had received a mortal wound. This trumpeting56 note of mirth was as much a part of her experience as her husband’s kisses had been. Her lips tightened57, her eyes wide with horror flew this way and that, scanning every face. Then they fell again upon the dark woman whom she had forgotten in this sudden anguish58. Instantly she felt the red lash20 of this woman’s smile, as if she had reached across the space between them to strike a blow. There was contempt and[245] recognition in the smoldering59 black eyes—no defiance60, but triumph.
The man facing her at this table with his back to Helen caught it, flirted61 his head around to find the object of it—and looked straight into the eyes of his wife!
For one instant they held this silent interview with each other in that crowded room. Then the woman struck her hands together with a sharp, little smack62, and let out a gale63 of laughter, too keen, too high in this decent place. Every head was turned toward her, every eye fell upon her in polite amazement. Still she laughed. And still George Cutter’s eyes followed his wife. For Helen had risen at the first note of that stinging laugh and had made her way blindly from the room.
“What happened?” asked a fat man, rolling a pop-eyed look across the table at his wife.
“I didn’t see anything,” she replied, taking her soup with the absorption of an innocent person.
“Who was the pale lady? Didn’t you see her going out?”
“A lot of people are coming in and going out,” his wife returned, skinning the bottom of her soup plate with her spoon.
[246]“And there’s the one that did the laugh,” he said, nodding at the woman.
“Fellow with her is all in then—head down, knees sprung, tail drooping67. He’s come a cropper and knows it. Look at him, Lily.”
The old Lily looked at the man before the “jade” indifferently, then passed the look on to the service door from whence cometh, or should come, the next course of this very good dinner. “Henry, you are a born scandalmonger,” she said reproachfully.
“No, it’s an acquired taste, but I have it; and if ever I saw a fine scene in a matrimonial melodrama68, I’ve just witnessed one. Pale lady’s the wife, t’other one’s the gallant69 gal64 bandit, and the man’s the victim,” he snickered.
Before these guests had finished dining, Helen Cutter had left the Inn.
A week later Charlotte received a wire from her mistress, instructing her to send Buck70 with the car to Atlanta in time to meet a certain train at the Terminal Station on a certain day. This message was sent from Baltimore, which had not been Mrs. Cutter’s destination when she left home, Charlotte observed with a sniff71. She did[247] not like Mrs. Cutter’s ways, referring to this tendency she had of flying about the world alone when she had a perfectly72 good maid, who had expected to accompany her. And she did not like the company she kept, referring to Shippen who was the only visitor she had received. And what was more to the point, she had no idea of being buried alive in this little speck73 of a town. Therefore she meant to go back to Atlanta in the car, and stay there—strong emphasis on the last two words.
It was known in Shannon that “Helen Cutter had gone again.” But as late as the third week in April, no one knew that she had returned. There was a rumor74 current that probably she would not come back, since she must have realized that everybody knew what had happened.
Then Mrs. Flitch, who was out selling Liberty Bonds one afternoon, passed the Cutter place and beheld75 a baby carriage on the lawn! Not only that, but the carriage was obviously occupied, because Maria, togged out in a nurse’s cap and apron76, was rolling it back and forth77 along the driveway. Mrs. Flitch said later that you could have “knocked her down with a feather,” but she decided78 no matter what kind of woman Helen Cutter was, it was no more than right that she[248] should be called upon to buy these bonds. Therefore she turned in and walked briskly up the drive, meeting Maria directly front of the house.
“Is Mrs. Cutter at home?” she asked, ignoring the old woman’s occupation.
“No’m, she ain’t here; she’s gone to git a goat,” Maria answered.
“A goat!”
“Yes’m, a milk goat for the baby,” rolling her eyes.
Mrs. Flitch stood perfectly still, the incarnation of malignant79 virtue5, allowing her eyes to pass back and forth between Maria and the carriage. The wicker hood36 concealed81 the contents from her avid82 gaze. When she could endure her curiosity no longer, she moved slowly around to the front, but maintaining a decent distance, and stared.
The baby recognized her at once, grinned, showing several teeth, and waved a highly ornamental83 teething ring.
“Maria, whose child is this?” Mrs. Flitch demanded sternly, as if it was her duty to know.
“Miss Helen says it’s her’n,” was the noncommittal reply.
Followed a series of questions as to the age and possible complexion84 of this child. One confidence led to another question until Maria let go[249] and told all that she knew, which only increased the cloud hanging over the origin of this baby.
She said that she had gone in to clear the table that night in August of last year when Mr. Cutter left his wife. She had heard him tell her that he was going to leave her.
“What did Mrs. Cutter say to that?”
“Not a word. From first to last I did not hear her open her mouth, Mrs. Flitch. But he talked a right smart. I disremember what he said, but it wa’n’t praisin’. Then he goes out and banged the door after him. He ain’t been here since.”
“And she does not hear from him?”
“Not as I knows of. Miss Helen left ’reckly after he did, and she was gone five months. But she wa’n’t wid him. We used to git letters from her from a place in Ca’lina.”
“Which, North or South Carolina?”
“I don’t know, ’m. Buck read the letters.”
“This is a strange baby,” Mrs. Flitch announced grimly.
Maria wiped her eyes. She was working herself up to an emotional pitch by some act of memory. Mrs. Flitch waited for the revelation she knew must be coming.
“I’m goin’ to tell you all I know about how come dis baby. Not as it kin4 explain somethings,[250] like her having black hair and being dark complected, but it’s all I know,” she began.
“Go on.”
“After Mr. Cutter was gone, Miss Helen laid in bed three days. She jest laid there, white as a corpse85, with her eyes open. She didn’t shed no tears and she didn’t say anything, mor’n for me to hand her a glass of water or somethin’ like that. Then one mornin’ she hops86 out of bed, dresses herself an’ goes downtown to the bank. While she was dressin’ I comes to the door to fetch her slippers87, which I’d been polishin’ in the kitchen.” Maria left off and rolled her eyes lugubriously88, as if such a tongue as she had could not reveal the rest.
“Go on; what happened?”
“Mrs. Flitch,” lowering her voice to a tragic89 whisper, “she was talkin’ to herself! ‘Now,’ she says, ‘I kin have children.’ She said them words over and over, ’s if she was glad of the chance.”
“But what did she mean?”
“I d’no, ’m. I been in this world a long time, an’ I ain’t never heerd no ’oman, white or black, say sech things and her husband jest that minute ’sertin’ her. But she’s done it—what she said she’d do. Here’s the child,” she concluded, standing[251] like a black exclamation90 point beside the baby carriage.
Mrs. Flitch counted her fingers surreptitiously and regarded the infant once more with a sort of expert scientific stare.
“Where is the maid? I understood Mrs. Cutter had a maid?” she asked suddenly, as if she was on the point of subpoenaing91 a more competent witness.
“She’s gone. Said she didn’t like the looks of it.”
“Of what?”
“I d’no, ’m.”
“Maria,” Mrs. Flitch said after a staccato silence, “you need not tell Mrs. Cutter that I called.”
“La! Mrs. Flitch, hit don’t make no difference. This baby ain’t no secret, whatever else it is. Miss Helen don’t keer who knows she’s got it,” Maria called after her.
All these months this servant had known what Helen believed no one knew in Shannon, the minutest details of that last scene with her husband.
There are no secrets. We may give alms so privately92 that the twin right hand of our left hand remains93 blissfully ignorant of what we spent[252] on these alms. Nothing is easier than to conceal80 a good deed, if you really wish to do so, because it is not our nature to suspect each other of secret goodness. It is hard enough to obtain credit when we stand on the street corner and proclaim our charity in a loud voice, or get the whole beautiful thing exploited in the public press. This is what we usually do, being in some mortal doubt whether, after all, the reward promised by our Heavenly Father will be conferred openly enough or soon enough to pay for the unnatural expense of secrecy94. This is a mistake, of course, because, while we are duly credited, the smiling, cynical95 interpretation96 placed upon our motive97 takes the shine off the deed and the alms.
But let one of the best of us become involved in a doubtful deed, however innocently, and it is known. Witnesses spring from the very ground to swear to your guilt98, even if you have gone into your closet to taste a pleasant fault. Even if, as in Helen’s case, the evidence is flimsy and circumstantial, there is always an eye that sees, an ear that hears, a tongue to tell what happened or what apparently99 happened. The deeper truth—the innocence of the wicked, the guilt of the saints—remains hidden save from the omniscience100 of the Almighty101. This is why it seems to me highly[253] probable that there really may be a super-record kept in a Book of Life far removed from the laws and judgments102 of this present world. We shall be graded accordingly, exalted103 or demoted, not so furiously condemned104 as our own heinous105 imaginations demand.
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1
soldered
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| v.（使）焊接，焊合( solder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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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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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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cavern
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| n.洞穴，大山洞 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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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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snugly
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| adv.紧贴地；贴身地；暖和舒适地；安适地 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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bowered
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| adj.凉亭的，有树荫的 | |
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bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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plaza
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| n.广场，市场 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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scrolled
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| adj.具有涡卷装饰的v.（电脑屏幕上）从上到下移动（资料等），卷页( scroll的过去式和过去分词 )；（似卷轴般）卷起；（像展开卷轴般地）将文字显示于屏幕 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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scriptures
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| 经文，圣典( scripture的名词复数 )； 经典 | |
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reminders
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| n.令人回忆起…的东西( reminder的名词复数 )；提醒…的东西；（告知该做某事的）通知单；提示信 | |
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authoritatively
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| 命令式地，有权威地，可信地 | |
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trespasses
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| 罪过( trespass的名词复数 )； 非法进入 | |
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soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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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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narcotics
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| n.麻醉药( narcotic的名词复数 )；毒品；毒 | |
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elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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humiliated
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| 感到羞愧的 | |
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outgrown
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| 长[发展] 得超过（某物）的范围( outgrow的过去分词 )； 长[发展]得不能再要（某物）； 长得比…快； 生长速度超过 | |
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rouged
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| 胭脂，口红( rouge的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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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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flinches
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| v.（因危险和痛苦）退缩，畏惧( flinch的第三人称单数 ) | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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51
maroon
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| v.困住，使（人）处于孤独无助之境；n.逃亡黑奴；孤立的人；酱紫色，褐红色；adj.酱紫色的，褐红色的 | |
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52
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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53
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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trumpeting
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| 大声说出或宣告（trumpet的现在分词形式） | |
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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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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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smoldering
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| v.用文火焖烧，熏烧，慢燃( smolder的现在分词 ) | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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flirted
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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gal
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| n.姑娘，少女 | |
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jade
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| n.玉石；碧玉；翡翠 | |
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appraising
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| v.估价( appraise的现在分词 )；估计；估量；评价 | |
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drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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melodrama
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| n.音乐剧；情节剧 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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sniff
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| vi.嗅…味道；抽鼻涕；对嗤之以鼻，蔑视 | |
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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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speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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rumor
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| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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avid
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| adj.热心的；贪婪的；渴望的；劲头十足的 | |
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ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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hops
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| 跳上[下]( hop的第三人称单数 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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lugubriously
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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subpoenaing
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| v.（用传票）传唤（某人）( subpoena的现在分词 ) | |
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privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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99
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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100
omniscience
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| n.全知，全知者，上帝 | |
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101
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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102
judgments
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| 判断( judgment的名词复数 )； 鉴定； 评价； 审判 | |
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103
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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104
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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105
heinous
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| adj.可憎的，十恶不赦的 | |
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