For a franc you could watch the old illusion of a shrouded4 man turning to a grisly skeleton in his narrow coffin5; or you could see a diverting burlesque6 of the celestial7 realms, and observe how sinners were burnt in a canvas hell with artificial flames. Humphrey had seen all these during his first week in Paris: he had laughed, but afterwards he had been ashamed of his laughter. They were a little degrading....
He passed them by to-night, in spite of the enticing8 blandishments of the mock mute, the angel and the devil by the doors of their haunts. He wandered aimlessly along this Boulevard, where women crossed his path, looking very picturesque9, without any covering to their heads, shawls across their shoulders and red aprons11 down to the fringe of their short skirts. There was something savage12 and primitive13 about these women: they lacked the frankness and gaiety of the coster-girl in London; they were beautiful, with an evil and cruel beauty. Vicious-looking men slouched from the shadows. Their looks could not conceal14 the knives in their pockets. They were as rats in the night, creeping from pavement to pavement, preying15 on humanity.
[300]
The door of a café chantant opened, as Humphrey came abreast16 with it, and the sound of a jingling17 chorus, played on a discordant18 piano, arrested his steps. The man who was coming out, thinking that Humphrey was about to enter, held the door open for him politely. Something impelled19 Humphrey forward.
He went inside.
The room was heavy with tobacco smoke; it floated in thin clouds about the lights and drifted here and there in pale spirals as it was blown from the lips of the smokers20. His vision was blurred21 by the smoke at first, and, as he stood there blinking and self-conscious, it was as though he had intruded22 into some private and intimate gathering23. It seemed that every one in the room was staring at him. The impression only lasted a moment. He perceived a vacant chair by a table and sat down, with the bearing of one to whom the place was familiar.
All around him the men and women were sitting. There was an air of sex-comradeship that, in spite of its frankness, was neither indecent nor blatant25. The people were behaving in the most natural way in the world. Sometimes a woman nestled close to a man and their hands interlaced; sometimes a man sat with his arm round the waist of a girl. Mild liquids were before them—the light beer of France, little glasses of cherries soaked in brandy, glasses of white and red wine. Their eyes were set towards the small stage at the end of the room, a narrow platform framed in crudely-painted canvas, representing trees and foliage26; while at the back there was a drop-scene that showed a forest as an early Japanese artist might have drawn27 it, with vast distances and a nursery contempt for perspective.
His eye wandered to the walls painted with scroll-work and deformed28 cupids and panels of nude29 women, so badly done that they appealed more to the sense of humour than to the sexual. The pictures on the walls[301] seemed to leave the men and women untouched; they concentrated all their attention on the entertainment. The only person in the place who showed any sign of boredom30 was the gendarme31 who sat by the door, the State's hostage to its conscience. Nothing, said the State, in effect, can be indecent if one of our gendarmes32 is there. This was not one of the cabarets where the poet-singers of Montmartre chant, with melancholy33 face, their witty34 doggerel35 or their fragrant36 pastorals; where people came to hear the veiled obscenities of political satire37 or allusions38 to passing events; this was a second-rate affair, a tingel-tangel—a species of family music-hall.
A waiter in an alpaca jacket, a stained apron10 wound skirt-wise round his trousers, approached Humphrey with an inquiring lift of his eyebrows39. He removed empty glasses dexterously40 with one hand and slopped a cloth over the table with the other.
"M'sieu, desire...?"
"Un fin," answered Humphrey.
The waiter emitted an explosive Bon and threaded his way through the labyrinth41 of chairs to a high wooden counter, where a fat man, with his shirt-sleeves rolled back to his elbow, stood sentinel over rows of coloured bottles. The light shone on green and red liqueurs, on pale amber42 and dark brown bottles placed on glass shelves against a looking-glass background, that reflected the bullet shape of the patron's close-cropped head.
Meanwhile the pianist had finished his interlude, and there was a burst of applause as a woman appeared on the stage. She wore an amazing hat of orange and white silk, in which feathers were the most insistent43 feature. There was something extraordinarily44 bold and flaunting45 in her presence. Her neck and shoulders and bosom46 were bare to the low cut of her bodice, and the cruel light showed the powder that she had scattered47 over her throat[302] and shoulders to make them white and enticing; it showed the red paint on the lips and the rouge48 on the cheeks, and the black on her eyelashes and eyebrows. The crude touches of obvious artifice50 destroyed her beauty. Her waist was compressed into a painful smallness, and her skirt was flounced and reached only to the knees.
She sang a song that had something to do with a soldier's life. "Tell me, soldier," she sang, "what do you think of in battle? Do you think of the glory of the Fatherland and the splendour of dying for France?" And the soldier answers: "I think only of a farm in Avignon, and a maiden51 whose lips I used to kiss on the old bridge; I think only of my old mother and how she will embrace me when I come home."
When she sang the simple song, though her voice was false, and her gestures stereotyped52, the rouge and the powder and the paint were forgotten for a moment. She was one of those unconscious artists belonging to a people who have art woven into the warp53 and woof of their daily life.
The audience took up the chorus. She nodded to them with an audacious smile. The pianist, with his cigarette stub hanging from his lips, under cover of the volume of voices, forsook54 the treble for a moment, and reached out with his hand for a glass of beer that rested above the piano.
It was the strange, fumbling55 motion of his hand that caught Humphrey's eye, trained to observe such details. He looked closer, and saw that the pianist's eyes were closed, and the lashes49 were withered56 where they met the cheek. He was blind; he never saw the faces and figures of the women who sang, he only heard the voices; he could see nothing that was harsh and cruel. And the picture of the blind pianist at the side of the garish57 stage, improvising58 little runs and trills and spinning[303] a web of melody night after night, stirred Humphrey with an odd emotion.
There was a pause. The door opened and closed as people came and went. Humphrey sipped59 at the brandy; the fiery60 taste of it made his palate and throat smart. The price of the entertainment was one franc, including a drink.
Suddenly the pianist struck up a well-known air. A slim girl, in the costume of the district, slouched on to the stage, her hands thrust into the pockets of her apron. Her hair was bundled together in careless heaps of yellow, her eyes were pale blue and almost almond-shaped, her features finely moulded, with a queer distinction of their own. And when she took one hand out of her apron pocket, he saw that the fingers were long and exquisitely61 tapered62, and tipped with pink, beautiful nails that shone in the light. Those finger-nails betrayed her. They were not in keeping with the part.
She started singing, walking the small stage with a swaying motion of her body; her young form was lithe63 and graceful64; her movements tigrine. And as she sang her lilting chorus, her pale eyes gazed from their narrow slits65 at Humphrey, not boldly or coquettishly, but with an indeterminate appeal, as though she felt ashamed of her song.
"Quand je danse avec mon grand frisé
Il a l'air de m'enlacer
Je perds la tête
'Suis comme une bête!
'Y a pas chose—'suis sa chose à lui
'Y a pas mal—Quoi? C'est mon mari
Car moi, je l'aime
J'aime mon grand frisé."
The audience sang the swinging chorus, and she moved sinuously66 to and fro with the rhythm of it. Humphrey sat there, and he seemed to lose consciousness[304] of all the other people in the room—the smell of the smoke, and the jingle67 of the piano, and the ill-painted pictures on the walls faded away from him; all his senses seemed to merge68 and concentrate on the enjoyment69 of this moment. She was singing on the stage for him, her narrow eyes never left him.
And her song was a p?an in praise of the brute70 in man.
She acted her song. Her face was radiant with the joy of being possessed71, and her eyes shone as she abandoned herself to the words:
"Quand je danse avec le grand frisé
Il a l'air de m'enlacer...."
Then her wonderful hands with their glinting finger-nails went up to her head, and she half-closed her eyes, as though she were swooning:
"Je perds la tête...."
Now her eyes were opened, and they glared wildly, and her lips trembled, and her slim body quivered with animal hunger:
"'Suis comme une bête."
And now, she smiled, and pride was on her face; one hand rested on her hip24, and she swaggered up the stage, as the words fitted into the opening lilt:
"'Y pas chose—suis sa chose à lui
'Y pas mal—Quoi? C'est mon mari...."
Her face became at once miraculously72 tender. She expressed great and overpowering love—a love so strong that it swept everything before it—a love that was without restraint, passionate73, fierce and unquenchable. Her arms were outstretched. Her dark blouse, opened at the neck, revealed her white throat throbbing74 with her song:
"Car moi, je l'aime
J'aime mon grand frisé."
[305]
And when she sang "Je l'aime," she invested the words with passion and renunciation.
They clamoured for another verse, crying "Bis ... Bis," in throaty tones, but she only came on to bow to them, and walk off again with that swaying stride.
"Eh, bien!" said a voice at Humphrey's elbow, "she is very good, our little Desirée, hein?"
He turned half round in his chair. At first he did not recognize the immaculately clothed young man, with the fair, long hair, who smiled at him, and then he recollected75 that they had met in the office of Le Parisien.
"M. Charnac, isn't it?" Humphrey asked. "I didn't know you at once.... Yes, she's very good. What's her name?"
"Desirée Lebeau," Charnac answered. He looked at Humphrey again, still smiling.
"Do you often come here?" he asked.
"This is the first time.... I was wandering about.... I just dropped in."
Humphrey noticed that Charnac was not alone. A pretty girl dressed becomingly in black, with a touch of red about her neck, sat by his side.
"Allow me to present a friend, Margot," Charnac said to the girl. "He is an Englishman—a journalist," he added. And to Humphrey he said:
"Mlle. Margot Lebeau. She is the sister of our little Desirée."
"M'sieu est Anglais," said the dark-haired girl in a piping voice. "Ah! que ?a doit être interessant d'être Anglais."
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1
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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2
absurdities
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| n.极端无理性( absurdity的名词复数 )；荒谬；谬论；荒谬的行为 | |
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3
provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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4
shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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5
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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6
burlesque
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| v.嘲弄，戏仿；n.嘲弄，取笑，滑稽模仿 | |
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7
celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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8
enticing
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| adj.迷人的；诱人的 | |
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9
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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10
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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aprons
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| 围裙( apron的名词复数 )； 停机坪，台口（舞台幕前的部份） | |
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12
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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13
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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14
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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15
preying
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| v.掠食( prey的现在分词 )；掠食；折磨；（人）靠欺诈为生 | |
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16
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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17
jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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18
discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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19
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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20
smokers
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| 吸烟者( smoker的名词复数 ) | |
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21
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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22
intruded
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| n.侵入的，推进的v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 )；把…强加于 | |
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23
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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24
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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25
blatant
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| adj.厚颜无耻的；显眼的；炫耀的 | |
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26
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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27
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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28
deformed
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| adj.畸形的；变形的；丑的，破相了的 | |
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29
nude
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| adj.裸体的；n.裸体者，裸体艺术品 | |
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30
boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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31
gendarme
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| n.宪兵 | |
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32
gendarmes
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| n.宪兵，警官( gendarme的名词复数 ) | |
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33
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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34
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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35
doggerel
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| n.拙劣的诗，打油诗 | |
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36
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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37
satire
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| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
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38
allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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39
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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40
dexterously
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| adv.巧妙地，敏捷地 | |
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41
labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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42
amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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43
insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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44
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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45
flaunting
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| adj.招摇的，扬扬得意的，夸耀的v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的现在分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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46
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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47
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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48
rouge
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| n.胭脂，口红唇膏；v.(在…上)擦口红 | |
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49
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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50
artifice
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| n.妙计，高明的手段；狡诈，诡计 | |
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51
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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52
stereotyped
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| adj.(指形象、思想、人物等)模式化的 | |
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53
warp
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| vt.弄歪，使翘曲，使不正常，歪曲，使有偏见 | |
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54
forsook
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| forsake的过去式 | |
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55
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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56
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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57
garish
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| adj.华丽而俗气的，华而不实的 | |
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58
improvising
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| 即兴创作（improvise的现在分词形式） | |
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59
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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60
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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61
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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62
tapered
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| adj. 锥形的，尖削的，楔形的，渐缩的，斜的 动词taper的过去式和过去分词 | |
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63
lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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64
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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65
slits
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| n.狭长的口子，裂缝( slit的名词复数 )v.切开，撕开( slit的第三人称单数 )；在…上开狭长口子 | |
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66
sinuously
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| 弯曲的，蜿蜒的 | |
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67
jingle
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| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
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68
merge
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| v.(使)结合，(使)合并，(使)合为一体 | |
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69
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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70
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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71
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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72
miraculously
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| ad.奇迹般地 | |
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73
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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74
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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75
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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