Then came the reaction—the truer judgment3. If she had desired to see me, she could have sent round word to my box at the theatre. After all, why should she desire to see me? She was famous and had made her world without me. When we parted, I had left her with a memory so humiliating that it must scorch4 her even now. These were things which a woman finds it difficult to forgive—impossible to forget. Still, there was curiosity—a woman’s curiosity! She might resist it for a time, tantalizing5 both me and herself; but she would have to see me presently, if only to wound me.
I scarcely stirred from my hotel, afraid lest I should miss her. By the time evening fell, I had come to a new conclusion—that the ironical6 scoundrel, who had so coolly pocketed my money, had destroyed my card. To make sure of reaching her, I wrote a letter to the theatre, saying many true things foolishly. Then, in sheer restlessness, I hurried to the boulevard in which her theatre was situated7, hoping to get a glimpse of her either coming or going.
I could not bring myself to enter—it was too horrible and beautiful—she was dancing away her womanhood in there. Shockingly fascinated as I had been by the spectacle, I felt a lover’s jealousy8 that strangers should watch it.
I hated the gay crowds seething9 in to find enjoyment10 in my shame and her tragedy. They were jesters at something sacred.
I paced the boulevard with clenched11 hands and snapping nerves; I could not go far away from her, and I could not go to her. Within my brain she was always dancing, dancing, and the jaded12 eyes of Paris grew young with greed of her sensational13 perfection. I longed to go to her, to protect her, to save her from herself. She needed me, though she would scorn the idea if I told her. If she would but allow it, I would carry her away from these hectic14 nights and this subtle, soul-destroying sensualism. Her shame was my doing; I would give all my life to make amends15 to her.
But she gave me no sign that she had either seen or heard from me. What else could I expect? How could I explain my infatuation even to myself, let alone to her, as more than physical attraction? And was it more?... Once she had offered me far more than I now begged; I had churlishly refused it. How could I account to her for my altered valuation of her worth? She would not answer—I knew that now. I should have to compel her attention.
Next morning in reading the papers I came across her name frequently. She was the madcap darling of Paris; every edition contained some anecdote16 of La Fiesole and her erratic17 doings. One item captured my interest especially: there was a certain café in the Champs Elysées to which she went often after theatre hours. For the time being she had made it the most fashionable midnight resort in Paris.
That night, having bribed18 heavily for the privilege, I was seated at a table near the entrance. If she came, she could scarcely pass without seeing me. The place was an al fresco19 restaurant, gorgeously theatric. It stood in a garden, brilliantly romantic and insincere as a stage-setting. Overlooking the garden were white verandahs, creeper-covered and garish20 with hothouse flowers; throughout it were scattered21 kiosks and bowers22 in which the more secret of the diners sat. The plumed23 trees were knit together with ropes of lights, like pearl-necklaces which had been tossed into their branches casually24. In bushes and hidden among blossoms, glow-worm illuminations twinkled, like faeries kindling25 and extinguishing their lamps. Everything was subdued26 and sensuous27. Fountains played and splashed. Statues glimmered28. A gipsy orchestra, fierce-looking and red-coated, clashed frenzied29 music, which sobbed30 away into dreamy waltzes and elusive31 snatches of melody. The effect was bizarre—artistically unreal and emotionally tropic.
Here one might experience a great passion which consumed by its panting brevity; everyone seemed present for the express purpose of realizing such a passion.
At tables seated in couples were extraordinary people, dressed to play their part in a dare-devil romance. Here were men who looked like Russian Archdukes, bearded, bloodless, and insolently32 languid. Sitting opposite them were voluptuous34 women, tragically35 exotic, dangerously coaxing36, with the melodramatic appearance of scheming nihilists. They were reckless, these costly37, slant-eyed odalisques—exiles from commonplace kindliness38, born gamblers for the happiness they had thrown away and would never re-capture. There was the atmosphere of intrigue39, of indiscreet liaison40 about almost every couple. They acted as though for one ecstatic moment the world was theirs. Their behavior was everything that is exaggerated, fond, undomestic, and arrogantly41 well-bred.
There was something lacking. As each new arrival entered, the slanted42 eyes of the women and the heavy eyes of the men were raised droopingly with an expression of furtive44 expectancy45. They were a chorus assembled, waiting for the leading actor till the play should commence.
Low rippling46 laughter, spontaneously joyous47, sounded. From the trellised entrance she emerged and halted, looking mock-bashful, taking in the effect she had created, spurning48 the gravel49 with her golden slipper50. Her gown was of dull green satin, cut audaciously low in the back and neck, and slashed51 from the hem33 to expose her slim ankle and golden stocking. She wore no jewels, but between her breasts was a yellow rose, which drifted nodding on the whiteness of her bosom52’ as she drew her breath. Her reddish gold hair was wrapped en bandeaux about her small pale ears and broad pale forehead. It shone metallic53; its brightness dulled and quickened as she swayed her splendid body.
At her first appearance a muttering had arisen, gathering54 in volume. As she lifted her head and her green eyes flashed through her long, bronze lashes55, we grew silent. It was as though a tamer had entered a cage of panthers and stood cowing them with her consciousness of power. Yes, she knew what they thought of her, and guessed what they admired in her. She surveyed us with quiet contempt. I felt that behind whatever she did or said there lay hidden a timid girlishness. She was still the old Fiesole, the happy companion who could tramp through rainstorms like a man. Her brave pagan purity these half-way decadents56 had not tarnished57; by them it was unsuspected. I watched her tall, lithe58 figure; the neck so small that one could span it with a hand; the firm, high bosom, proud and virginal; the straight, frank brows, and the mouth so red and sweetly drooping43. Other women looked decorative59 and tinsel beside her natural perfection.
My throat was parched60. My eyes felt scalded. I was unnerved and a-tremble. Her beauty daunted61 as much as it challenged. What bond still existed between us that would draw her to me? She looked so remote, so hemmed62 in by the new personality she had developed.
Her green eyes swept the garden, probing its secret shadows. For whom was she looking? They rested on mine, absorbed me—then fell away without recognition. I had risen in my place, with head bent63 forward, ready to go to her at the least sign of friendship. I remained standing65 and staring.
She turned to one of her companions and whispered something, at which they both laughed. He was a tall poetic-looking man, slight of hip64, blue-eyed, and handsome. His hair was wavy66 and yellow, his face bearded, and his skin pale with excess. There were other men with her, Monsieur Georges among others; but on the poet alone she lavished67 her attention. She gave him her arm and came towards me with the undulating stride that I knew so well. For a second I believed she was going to acknowledge me; she went by so closely that her gown trailed across my feet and brushed my hands. It was cruelly intended. The play had opened.
The table that had been reserved for her was next to mine, partly hidden from the public gaze by bushes; as I watched, I caught glimpses of her profile, and could always hear the lazy murmur68 of her voice and occasionally fragments of what was said. I followed her foreign gestures, her tricks of personality—all of them adorably familiar: the way she shifted her eyebrows69 in listening, sunk her chin between her breasts when she was serious, and clapped her hands in excitement. She was as simple as a child—in her heart she had not altered. Even the way in which she made me suffer what she had suffered was childish. This pretending not to know me was so transparent70. There were other and more subtle methods by which she could have taken her revenge.
I was not the only man who attempted to spy on her; there might have been no other woman present. Languid faces scattered throughout the garden took on a new sharpness. They turned and looked down from balconies on La Fiesole, eager to catch glimpses of her. To their women-companions men listened with a bored pretense71 of attention. Perhaps it was because of this, in an effort to focus interest on themselves, that the women, as by a concerted plan, became more animated72.
Suddenly a girl in scarlet73 leapt upon a table and commenced to dance with flashing eyes and whirling skirts. I heard someone say that she was a gipsy and that her brother was first-violinist in the orchestra. The music mounted up, wild and unrestrained; the small feet beat faster; the actions became more frenzied. She turned away from her comrade and bent back double, peering into his eyes; she flung herself from him, chaffing him with grim endearments74; she feigned75 to become furious; then she threw herself across his knees exhausted76, writhing77 her arms about his neck. Men eyed her with studied carelessness. She had done it before and they had applauded. They could see her any night. They could not always feast their eyes on La Fiesole.
Saturnalia broke loose. Girl after girl rose upon chair or table, or went swaying through the magic garden like a frail78 leaf harried79 by a storm. They danced singly, they danced together, going through grotesque80 contortions81, beckoning82 lovers with their eyes and gestures.
And I watched Fiesole through the bushes. She was not so indifferent to me as she pretended. She was playacting to rouse my jealousy; she was purposely scourging83 me into madness. I alone of the public was sufficiently84 near to see clearly what she was doing. She was luring85 her poet to recklessness, taking no notice of what was in process about her. Did I catch her eye, she looked past me without recognition. But him she enticed86 by her gentleness. The man was drunk with her favor and beauty. He trembled to put the thoughts of a lover into action; she challenged him with her eyes, warning him from her and beckoning him to her.
Stooping over her, so low that his lips were in her hair, he whispered; but she shook her head. She rested her hand lightly on his shoulder, as though to steady him and to soften87 the unkindness of her refusal. Quickly he caught it in his own and bent over it, running his lips along her fingers and up her arm’s smooth curves. She looked down on him unmoved, disdainful at his breach88 of manners, yet superbly amorous89. Clutching her hotly to him, he kissed her on the throat.
Blind anger shook me—lust for violence such as I had never felt. Breaking into the toy arbor90 where they sat, I remember standing over him, dragging him backward by the collar, so that his face glared up at mine empurpled. His friends rushed forward, beating me about the head and shoulders, tearing at my hands, trying to make me release my hold.
Fiesole had risen like a fury. The table went down with a crash. Her face was deadly pale and her green eyes blazed with indignation. Her hands were clenched as if she also were about to strike me. And I was pouring out a torrent91 of words, telling her swiftly how I loved her and all that she had made me suffer.
Her rage died away as she listened and her expression became inscrutable. Quickly she darted92 back her head, laughing without happiness, mockingly. “You are very English, my friend. If you make so much noise, these messieurs will think we are married.”
I caught her by the wrists, so that she backed away from me. “I wish to God we were.”
“Oh, la, la, la!”
She went off into a peal93 of merriment, pointing her finger at me. The crowd gathered round us uncertain, asking in half-a-dozen languages what had been the provocation94 and what we were saying.
Her look changed. It was as though a mask had fallen. The temptress and witch were gone. I seemed to see in her melancholy95 eyes all the longing96 for tenderness and loyalty97 that I thought had been killed years ago in Venice.
She advanced her face to mine and stared at me timidly, as though fearful she had been mistaken.
“Take me out of this,” she whispered hoarsely98.
Her companions tried to intercept99 us, gesticulating and protesting. She brushed them aside, explaining that I was not myself and did not know what I was doing. For her sake they let me go without further molestation100.
We passed out, leaving them gaping101 after us. I helped her into her furs and took my place beside her in the coupé. Before we were out of earshot, the gipsy orchestra had swung into a new frenzy102.
Once Vi had kept me from Fiesole; now Fiesole was taking me from Vi. And these two women who, through me, had influenced one another’s destinies, had never met. They were hostile types.
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收听单词发音
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1
intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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flicked
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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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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scorch
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| v.烧焦，烤焦；高速疾驶；n.烧焦处，焦痕 | |
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5
tantalizing
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| adj.逗人的；惹弄人的；撩人的；煽情的v.逗弄，引诱，折磨( tantalize的现在分词 ) | |
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ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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jaded
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| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
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sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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hectic
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| adj.肺病的；消耗热的；发热的；闹哄哄的 | |
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15
amends
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| n. 赔偿 | |
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anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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erratic
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| adj.古怪的，反复无常的，不稳定的 | |
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bribed
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| v.贿赂( bribe的过去式和过去分词 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂 | |
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fresco
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| n.壁画；vt.作壁画于 | |
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garish
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| adj.华丽而俗气的，华而不实的 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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bowers
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| n.（女子的）卧室( bower的名词复数 )；船首锚；阴凉处；鞠躬的人 | |
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plumed
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| 饰有羽毛的 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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25
kindling
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| n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
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26
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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sensuous
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| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
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28
glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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29
frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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elusive
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| adj.难以表达(捉摸)的；令人困惑的；逃避的 | |
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insolently
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| adv.自豪地，自傲地 | |
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33
hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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34
voluptuous
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| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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35
tragically
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| adv. 悲剧地，悲惨地 | |
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36
coaxing
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的现在分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱；“锻炼”效应 | |
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37
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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38
kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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intrigue
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| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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40
liaison
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| n.联系，（未婚男女间的）暖昧关系，私通 | |
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arrogantly
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| adv.傲慢地 | |
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42
slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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43
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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44
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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45
expectancy
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| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
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rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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47
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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48
spurning
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| v.一脚踢开，拒绝接受( spurn的现在分词 ) | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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50
slipper
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| n.拖鞋 | |
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51
slashed
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| v.挥砍( slash的过去式和过去分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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52
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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53
metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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54
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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55
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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56
decadents
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| n.颓废派艺术家（decadent的复数形式） | |
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57
tarnished
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| （通常指金属）（使）失去光泽，（使）变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 )； 玷污，败坏 | |
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58
lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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59
decorative
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| adj.装饰的，可作装饰的 | |
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60
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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61
daunted
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| 使（某人）气馁，威吓( daunt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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63
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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64
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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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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66
wavy
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| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
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67
lavished
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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69
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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70
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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71
pretense
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| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
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72
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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73
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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endearments
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| n.表示爱慕的话语，亲热的表示( endearment的名词复数 ) | |
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feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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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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frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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harried
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| v.使苦恼( harry的过去式和过去分词 )；不断烦扰；一再袭击；侵扰 | |
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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contortions
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| n.扭歪，弯曲；扭曲，弄歪，歪曲( contortion的名词复数 ) | |
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82
beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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83
scourging
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| 鞭打( scourge的现在分词 )； 惩罚，压迫 | |
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84
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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85
luring
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的现在分词形式） | |
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86
enticed
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| 诱惑，怂恿( entice的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87
soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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88
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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amorous
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| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
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arbor
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| n.凉亭；树木 | |
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torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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intercept
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| vt.拦截，截住，截击 | |
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100
molestation
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| n.骚扰，干扰，调戏；折磨 | |
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101
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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102
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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