One evening in May, 1888, the Café des écoles was even more crowded and more noisy than usual. The marble-topped tables were wet with beer and the din1 was appalling2. Someone shouted to make himself heard.
“Any more news from the Salon3?”
“Yes,” said Elliott, “Thaxton’s in with a number three. Rhodes is out and takes it hard. Clifford’s out too, and takes it — ”
A voice began to chant:
Je n’sais comment faire,
Comment concillier
Ma maitresse et mon père,
Le Code et Bullier.
“Drop it! Oh, drop it!” growled4 Rhodes, and sent a handful of billiard chalk at the singer.
Mr Clifford returned a volley of the Café spoons, and continued:
Mais c’que je trouve de plus bête,
C’est qu’ i’ faut financer
J’aimerai mieux m’amuser.
Several other voices took up the refrain, lamenting7 the difficulty of reconciling their filial duties with balls at Bullier’s, and protesting that they would rather amuse themselves than consider financial questions. Rhodes sipped8 his cura?oa sulkily.
“The longer I live in the Latin Quarter,” he said to his neighbor, “the less certain I feel about a place of future punishment. It would be so tame after this.” Then, reverting9 to his grievance10, he added, “The slaughter11 this year at the Salon is awful.”
Reginald Gethryn stirred nervously12 but did not speak.
“Have a game, Rex?” called Clifford, waving a cue.
Gethryn shook his head, and reaching for a soiled copy of the Figaro, glanced listlessly over its contents. He sighed and turned his paper impatiently. Rhodes echoed the sigh.
“What’s at the theaters?”
“Same as last week, excepting at the Gaieté. They’ve put on ‘La Belle Hélène’ there.”
“Oh! Belle Hélène!” cried Clifford.
Tzing! la! la! Tzing! la! la!
C’est avec ces dames13 qu’ Oreste
Fait danser l’argent de Papa!
“I shouldn’t think you’d feel like gibbering that rot tonight.”
Clifford smiled sweetly and patted him on the head. “Tzing! la! la! My shot, Elliott?”
“Tzing! la! la!” laughed Thaxton, “That’s Clifford’s biography in three words.”
Clifford repeated the refrain and winked14 impudently15 at the pretty bookkeeper behind her railing. She, alas16! returned it with a blush.
Gethryn rose restlessly and went over to another table where a man, young, but older than himself, sat, looking comfortable.
“Braith,” he began, trying to speak indifferently, “any news of my fate?”
The other man finished his beer and then answered carelessly, “No.” But catching17 sight of Gethryn’s face he added, with a laugh:
“Look here, Rex, you’ve got to stop this moping.”
“I’m not moping,” said Rex, coloring up.
“What do you call it, then?” Braith spoke18 with some sharpness, but continued kindly19, “You know I’ve been through it all. Ten years ago, when I sent in my first picture, I confess to you I suffered the torments20 of the damned until — ”
“Until?”
“Until they sent me my card. The color was green.”
“But I thought a green card meant ‘not admitted.”’
“It does. I received three in three years.”
“Do you mean you were thrown out three years in succession?”
Braith knocked the ashes out of his pipe. “I gave up smoking for those three years.”
“You?”
Braith filled his pipe tenderly. “I was very poor,” he said.
“If I had half your sand!” sighed Rex.
“You have, and something more that the rest of us have not. But you are very young yet.”
This time Gethryn colored with surprise and pleasure. In all their long and close friendship Braith had never before given him any other encouragement than a cool, “Go ahead!”
He continued: “Your curse thus far has been want of steady application, and moreover you’re too easily scared. No matter what happens this time, no knocking under!”
“Oh, I’m not going to knock under. No more is Clifford, it seems,” Rex added with a laugh, as Clifford threw down his cue and took a step of the devil’s quadrille.
“Oh! Elliott!” he crowed, “what’s the matter with you?”
Elliott turned and punched a sleepy waiter in the ribs21.
“Emile — two bocks!”
The waiter jumped up and rubbed his eyes. “What is it, monsieur?” he snapped.
Elliott repeated the order and they strolled off toward a table. As Clifford came lounging by, Carleton said, “I hear you lead with a number one at the Salon.”
“Right, I’m the first to be fired.”
“He’s calm now,” said Elliott, “but you should have seen him yesterday when the green card came.”
“Well, yes. I discoursed22 a little in several languages.”
“After he had used up his English profanity, he called the Jury names in French, German and Spanish. The German stuck, but came out at last like a cork23 out of a bottle — ”
“Or a bung out of a barrel.”
“These comparisons are as offensive as they are unjust,” said Clifford.
“Quite so,” said Braith. “Here’s the waiter with your beer.”
“What number did you get, Braith?” asked Rhodes, who couldn’t keep his mind off the subject and made no pretense24 of trying.
“Three,” answered Braith.
There was a howl, and all began to talk at once.
“There’s justice for you!” “No justice for Americans!” “Serves us right for our tariff25!” “Are Frenchmen going to give us all the advantages of their schools and honors besides while we do all we can to keep their pictures out of our markets?”
“No, we don’t, either! Tariff only keeps out the sweepings26 of the studios — ”
“If there were no duty on pictures the States would be flooded with trash.”
“Take it off!” cried one.
“Make it higher!” shouted another.
“Idiots!” growled Rhodes. “Let ’em flood the country with bad work as well as good. It will educate the people, and the day will come when all good work will stand an equal chance — be it French or be it American.”
“True,” said Clifford, “Let’s all have a bock. Where’s Rex?”
But Gethryn had slipped out in the confusion. Quitting the Café des écoles, he sauntered across the street, and turning through the Rue27 de Vaugirard, entered the rue Monsieur le Prince. He crossed the dim courtyard of his h?tel, and taking a key and a candle from the lodge28 of the Concierge29, started to mount the six flights to his bedroom and studio. He felt irritable30 and fagged, and it did not make matters better when he found, on reaching his own door, that he had taken the wrong key. Nor did it ease his mind to fling the key over the banisters into the silent stone hallway below. He leaned sulkily over the railing and listened to it ring and clink down into the darkness, and then, with a brief but vigorous word, he turned and forced in his door with a crash. Two bull pups which had flown at him with portentous31 growls32 and yelps33 of menace now gamboled idiotically about him, writhing34 with anticipation35 of caresses36, and a gray and scarlet37 parrot, rudely awakened38, launched forth39 upon a musical effort resembling the song of a rusty40 cart-wheel.
“Oh, you infernal bird!” murmured the master, lighting41 his candle with one hand and fondling the pups with the other. “There, there, puppies, run away!” he added, rolling the ecstatic pups into a sort of dog divan42, where they curled themselves down at last and subsided43 with squirms and wriggles44, gurgling affection.
Gethryn lighted a lamp and then a cigarette. Then, blowing out the candle, he sat down with a sigh. His eyes fell on the parrot. It annoyed him that the parrot should immediately turn over and look at him upside down. It also annoyed him that “Satan,” an evil-looking raven45, was evidently preparing to descend46 from his perch47 and worry “Mrs Gummidge.”
“Mrs Gummidge” was the name Clifford had given to a large sad-eyed white tabby who now lay dozing48 upon a panther skin.
“Satan!” said Gethryn. The bird checked his sinister49 preparations and eyed his master. “Don’t,” said the young man.
Satan weighed his chances and came to the conclusion that he could swoop50 down, nip Mrs Gummidge, and get back to his bust51 of Pallas without being caught. He tried it, but his master was too quick for him, and foiled, he lay sullenly52 in Gethryn’s hands, his two long claws projecting helplessly between the brown fists of his master.
“Oh, you fiend!” muttered Rex, taking him toward a wicker basket, which he hated. “Solitary confinement53 for you, my boy.”
“Double, double, toil54 and trouble,” croaked55 the parrot.
Gethryn started nervously and shut him inside the cage, a regal gilt56 structure with “Shakespeare” printed over the door. Then, replacing the agitated57 Gummidge on her panther skin, he sat down once more and lighted another cigarette.
His picture. He could think of nothing else. It was a serious matter with Gethryn. Admitted to the Salon meant three more years’ study in Paris. Failure, and back he must go to New York.
The personal income of Reginald Gethryn amounted to the magnificent sum of two hundred and fifty dollars. To this, his aunt, Miss Celestia Gethryn, added nine hundred and fifty dollars more. This gave him a sum of twelve hundred dollars a year to live on and study in Paris. It was not a large sum, but it was princely when compared to the amount on which many a talented fellow subsists58, spending his best years in a foul59 atmosphere of paint and tobacco, ill fed, ill clothed, scarcely warmed at all, often sick in mind and body, attaining60 his first scant61 measure of success just as his overtaxed powers give way.
Gethryn’s aunt, his only surviving relative, had recently written him one of her ponderous62 letters. He took it from his pocket and began to read it again, for the fourth time.
You have now been in Paris three years, and as yet I have seen no results. You should be earning your own living, but instead you are still dependent upon me. You are welcome to all the assistance I can give you, in reason, but I expect that you will have something to show for all the money I expend63 upon you. Why are you not making a handsome income and a splendid reputation, like Mr Spinder?
The artist named was thirty-five and had been in Paris fifteen years. Gethryn was twenty-two and had been studying three years.
Why are you not doing beautiful things, like Mr Mousely? I’m told he gets a thousand dollars for a little sketch64.
Rex groaned65. Mr Mousely could neither draw nor paint, but he made stories of babies’ deathbeds on squares of canvas with china angels solidly suspended from the ceiling of the nursery, pointing upward, and he gave them titles out of the hymnbook, which caused them to be bought with eagerness by all the members of the congregation to which his family belonged.
The letter proceeded:
I am told by many reliable persons that three years abroad is more than enough for a thorough art education. If no results are attained66 at the end of that time, there is only one of two conclusions to be drawn67. Either you have no talent, or you are wasting your time. I shall wait until the next Salon before I come to a decision. If then you have a picture accepted and if it shows no trace of the immorality68 which is rife69 in Paris, I will continue your allowance for three years more; this, however, on condition that you have a picture in the Salon each year. If you fail again this year, I shall insist upon your coming home at once.
Why Gethryn should want to read this letter four times, when one perusal70 of it had been more than enough, no one, least of all himself, could have told. He sat now crushing it in is hand, tasting all the bitterness that is stored up for a sensitive artist tied by fate to an omniscient71 Philistine72 who feeds his body with bread and his soul with instruction about art and behavior.
Presently he mastered the black mood which came near being too much for him, his face cleared and he leaned back, quietly smoking. From the rug rose a muffled73 rumbling74 where Mrs Gummidge dozed75 in peace. The clock ticked sharply. A mouse dropped silently from the window curtain and scuttled76 away unmarked.
The pups lay in a soft heap. The parrot no longer hung head downward, but rested in his cage in a normal position, one eye fixed77 steadily78 on Gethryn, the other sheathed79 in a bluish-white eyelid80, every wrinkle of which spoke scorn of men and things.
For some time Gethryn had been half-conscious of a piano sounding on the floor below. It suddenly struck him now that the apartment under his, which had been long vacant, must have found an occupant.
“Idiots!” he grumbled81. “Playing at midnight! That will have to stop. Singing too! We’ll see about that!”
The singing continued, a girl’s voice, only passably trained, but certainly fresh and sweet.
Gethryn began to listen, reluctantly and ungraciously. There was a pause. “Now she’s going to stop. It’s time,” he muttered. But the piano began again — a short prelude83 which he knew, and the voice was soon in the midst of the Dream Song from “La Belle Hélène.”
Gethryn rose and walked to his window, threw it open and leaned out. An April night, soft and delicious. The air was heavy with perfume from the pink and white chestnut84 blossoms. The roof dripped with moisture. Far down in the dark court the gas-jets flickered85 and flared86. From the distance came the softened87 rumble82 of a midnight cab, which, drawing nearer and nearer and passing the h?tel with a rollicking rattle88 of wheels and laughing voices, died away on the smooth pavement by the Luxembourg Gardens. The voice had stopped capriciously in the middle of the song. Gethryn turned back into the room whistling the air. His eye fell on Satan sitting behind his bars in crumpled89 malice90.
“Poor old chap,” laughed the master, “want to come out and hop91 around a bit? Here, Gummidge, we’ll remove temptation out of his way,” and he lifted the docile92 tabby, who increased the timbre93 of her song to an ecstatic squeal94 at his touch, and opening his bedroom door, gently deposited her on his softest blankets. He then reinstated the raven on his bust of Pallas, and Satan watched him from thence warily95 as he fussed about the studio, sorting brushes, scraping a neglected palette, taking down a dressing96 gown, drawing on a pair of easy slippers97, opening his door and depositing his boots outside. When he returned the music had begun again.
“What on earth does she mean by singing at a quarter to one o’clock?” he thought, and went once more to the window. “Why — that is really beautiful.”
Oui! c’est un rêve, Oui! c’est un rêve doux d’amour.
La nuit lui prête son mystère,
Il doit finir — il doit finir avec le jour.
The song of Hélène ceased. Gethryn leaned out and gazed down at the lighted windows under his. Suddenly the light went out. He heard someone open the window, and straining his eyes, could just discern the dim outline of a head and shoulders, unmistakably those of a girl. She had perched herself on the windowsill. Presently she began to hum the air, then to sing it softly. Gethryn waited until the words came again:
Oui, c’est un rêve —
and then struck in with a very sweet baritone:
Oui, c’est un rêve —
She never moved, but her voice swelled98 out fresh and clear in answer to his, and a really charming duet came to a delightful99 finish. Then she looked up. Gethryn was reckless now.
“Shall it be, then, only a dream?” he laughed. Was it his fate that made him lean out and whisper, “Is it, then, only a dream, Hélène?”
There was nothing but the rustling100 of the chestnut branches to answer his folly101. Not another sound. He was half inclined to shut his window and go in, well satisfied with the silence and beginning to feel sleepy. All at once from below came a faint laugh, and as he leaned out he caught the words:
“Paris, Hélène bids you good night!”
“Ah, Belle Hélène!” — he began, but was cut short by the violent opening of a window opposite.
“Bon dieu de bon dieu!” howled an injured gentleman. “To sleep is impossible, tas d’imbeciles! — ”
And Hélène’s window closed with a snap.
收听单词发音 |
1
din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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3
salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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lamenting
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| adj.悲伤的，悲哀的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的现在分词 ) | |
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8
sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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9
reverting
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| 恢复( revert的现在分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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10
grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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11
slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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12
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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13
dames
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| n.（在英国）夫人（一种封号），夫人（爵士妻子的称号）( dame的名词复数 )；女人 | |
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winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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impudently
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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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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torments
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| （肉体或精神上的）折磨，痛苦( torment的名词复数 )； 造成痛苦的事物[人] | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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discoursed
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| 演说（discourse的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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pretense
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| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
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tariff
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| n.关税，税率；(旅馆、饭店等)价目表，收费表 | |
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sweepings
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| n.笼统的( sweeping的名词复数 )；（在投票等中的）大胜；影响广泛的；包罗万象的 | |
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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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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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concierge
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| n.管理员；门房 | |
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irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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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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growls
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的第三人称单数 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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yelps
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| n.（因痛苦、气愤、兴奋等的）短而尖的叫声( yelp的名词复数 )v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的第三人称单数 ) | |
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writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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caresses
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| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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41
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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divan
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| n.长沙发；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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wriggles
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| n.蠕动，扭动( wriggle的名词复数 )v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的第三人称单数 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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raven
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| n.渡鸟，乌鸦；adj.乌亮的 | |
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descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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48
dozing
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| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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swoop
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| n.俯冲，攫取；v.抓取，突然袭击 | |
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bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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52
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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53
confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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croaked
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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57
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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subsists
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| v.（靠很少的钱或食物）维持生活，生存下去( subsist的第三人称单数 ) | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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attaining
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的现在分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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expend
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| vt.花费，消费，消耗 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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67
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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immorality
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| n. 不道德, 无道义 | |
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rife
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| adj.(指坏事情)充斥的，流行的，普遍的 | |
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perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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omniscient
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| adj.无所不知的；博识的 | |
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philistine
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| n.庸俗的人；adj.市侩的，庸俗的 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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74
rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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dozed
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| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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scuttled
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| v.使船沉没( scuttle的过去式和过去分词 )；快跑，急走 | |
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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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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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sheathed
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| adj.雕塑像下半身包在鞘中的；覆盖的；铠装的；装鞘了的v.将（刀、剑等）插入鞘( sheathe的过去式和过去分词 )；包，覆盖 | |
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eyelid
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| n.眼睑，眼皮 | |
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grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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82
rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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prelude
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| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
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84
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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85
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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88
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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90
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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hop
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| n.单脚跳，跳跃；vi.单脚跳，跳跃；着手做某事；vt.跳跃，跃过 | |
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docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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timbre
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| n.音色，音质 | |
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squeal
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| v.发出长而尖的声音；n.长而尖的声音 | |
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warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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100
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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101
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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