Ordham did not rest on his oars5, but used them more slowly perhaps as he raised his face, hoping for a glimpse of the great artist whom he still permitted himself to admire even if no longer consumed by a desire to know her. Just as the boat slipped past the tower such a shriek6 of horror rang from the lowest of its rooms, that Ordham, without hesitating a second, reached the shore with a stroke and swung himself through a window in the opposite curve. He expected to find Countess Tann struggling in the arms of a burglar, and was astonished to see her standing7 alone in the middle of the room, staring down through the window to which he had raised his eyes as the boat rounded the corner. He did not enter noiselessly, but it was fully8 a moment before she turned. Then she drew a spasmodic breath of relief.
“Of course—you! But when I saw that white face down in the water—your face down there did look so white—I thought it was—”
Although the room was nearly dark he could see that she made an effort to recover her natural poise9, and she added: “Thank you for coming to my rescue. Of course you thought I was being murdered?”
“Or Kundry!” He was recovering from his own fright.
“Oh, don’t jest! I have had a terrible shock. You have no idea what your face down there brought back. I thought it was the ghost of a young man who once gave his life for me; and yet there is no reason why he should haunt me. I begged him to go.”
His complete silence expressed his right to hear the story, and in a moment it was evident that she would tell it. Her head was bent10, her brows drawn11, giving her eyes the expression of tragedy most familiar to him. The shock, no doubt, had set her sense of drama in action. He wondered if it were ever far from the surface of the artist that lived for his art, as this woman did.
“I will tell you,” she said at length. “Why not? You have come into my life in odd ways. As oddly you compel me to talk. I even wrote you long letters—and tore them up. I have told you that I was on the stage in America. I always had small parts, but I had some influence, nevertheless. Over there it is called ‘pull’—but you never use slang, do you? I scarcely ever went ‘on the road,’ as another phrase goes. But one summer, after I had been cultivating my voice for about three years with the old Wagnerian devotee I had discovered in New York, I quarrelled with a man I had come to hate, and, it being impossible that he should leave New York, I made up my mind to join a travelling company that would demand my services for months to come. It was not the salary of an actress that I needed in order to put the continent between us, but the protection of the company. Women in that great free country, to be admitted to hotels, or at least to remain in them, must be accompanied by some member of their family, by some man who at least pretends to be their husband, must be known (favourably known), must be shabbily respectable, or must have a raison d’être. An actress travelling with a company has always the right to live, no matter if she can do nothing but dust the furniture. So I went barnstorming, and, accustomed to luxury as I had grown, I was very uncomfortable, disgusted; no doubt, had I been less hardy12, I should have fallen ill. If the adventure I am about to relate had not happened, I might not have—I might have returned to New York in a very different fashion. My voice might not have been enough. I cannot tell.
“We played across the continent to San Francisco, then up to Portland, Oregon, intending to return in the same leisurely13 manner by the northern route from Seattle. We took the steamer from Portland. It is an infamous14 piece of coast, called, indeed, the ‘graveyard of the Pacific,’ but the weather was fair, and as there are only twenty or thirty wrecks15 a year, everybody in that optimistic section of the country expects to be among the favoured. Before night one of those terrible winds of the North Pacific suddenly descended16 upon us. I had often crossed the Atlantic, but I had never heard such a wind, seen such waves. Only the old phrase, ‘mountains high,’ gives any impression the waves made upon me, at least. Nearly everybody was ill. I remained on deck, enjoying the storm, the roaring wind, the great green glassy waves with their soft white combs. There was no rain, and the sky, as we rolled about, seemed to shake out the folds of a spangled flag. I soon noticed an athletic17 young fellow trying to stride up and down the deck. He gave it up after a time, and, having helped me to my feet, after I had gone for the third time into the scuppers, we fell into conversation. He was a Harvard man, had been visiting relatives in San Francisco, and was on his way to British Columbia for some shooting before returning to his home in Boston. He confessed that he had cultivated sport to such an extent that he had neglected his studies, and intended to take a post-graduate course. I do not recall anything else that he said, but he looked so young, so strong, so clean and thoroughbred, that I liked him, as I have always liked the few of his type that I have met. After a time he advised me to go to my room and get some sleep. I bade him good-night; and although my small state-room was close and crowded, I soon fell asleep. I knew nothing more until we were on the rocks.”
She flung out those famous expressive18 hands of hers. “That awful scene of confusion! The sharp animal-like cries of the women! The hoarse19 yells and curses of the men! The frantic20 rush! The horrible darkness—for every light went out. Finally I found myself on deck—swept there, I suppose, by that fighting mass of people. But it was all unreal at first, like a scene in the theatre. I remember hearing the leading lady sob21: ‘Oh, Gawd, I’ll never do it no more, I swear I won’t!’ and laughing.
“Then I saw that the atmosphere was impenetrable. I learned afterward22 that the captain had entered those terrible straits in a dense23 fog. And then I heard the grinding and pounding of the ship on the rocks, the roar and hiss24 of breakers. The signal gun scattered25 the shrieks26 that never stopped for a second. The ship gave a violent lurch27. I saw a green wall rushing through the fog and flung myself face downward, throwing my arms about a smokestack. When the wave had receded29 and I recovered my breath, I found myself alone and saw dark objects tossing on the water.
“There were no more screams, but there were other sounds—I cannot describe them! Suddenly I felt myself lifted up and a voice said: ‘Come quickly. There will be another wave. And we are sinking.’ I recognized the voice of the young Bostonian. He half carried me to the top of the pilot-house, where a few others were huddled30. The fog lifted. I could see still others clinging to the higher parts of the boat, but nearly every one had been washed overboard. By this time lights were flashing all along the shore, and we expected every moment that boats would put out to our rescue. But the seas were running at a frightful31 rate. I heard later that more than one boat was launched, but unable to fight the energy of those heaving mountains.
“One end of the steamer was below water. The other was pounding horribly; we merely waited for her to free herself and plunge33 to the bottom. More than once she slipped—twisted—When morning came the pilot-house was but a few feet above water. My young friend lashed34 me to a mast. How I climbed it with him I cannot tell you, but I did, and was firmly tied. He stood on a rung just below me and held my hand. He had already wrapped his coat about me. There was no more rope, even for him. I saw the others washed away, one by one. They went in silence. At first I implored35 him not to leave me to die alone, and he promised that he would not. But finally I begged him to try to swim to the shore. He was so strong, and we now could see people running up and down, a boat launching, even fancied we heard cries of encouragement. Surely they would manage to pick him up even although they might not reach the ship. But he would not. He said that a man could die only once, and that he should be ashamed to call himself an American if he deserted36 a woman in an hour like that.
“It will always be incredible to me that they did not make a more persistent37 effort to save us than they did. And his life was worth saving! The day passed. We saw a steam tug38, evidently telegraphed for; but after hanging about for an hour it went away again without making any attempt to approach us. Another night passed. The gale39 did not diminish for an instant. I was stiff, frozen, hungry, a mere32 bundle of automatic nerves. Will, memories, reason, all that make the individual, might have gone to find a grave for my tortured body. But I was safe so long as the ship gripped the rock. With him it was a different matter. He was strong and young, but he was not a god, and he was not lashed to the mast. He spoke40 to me from time to time, but his hold on my hand relaxed more than once, and I knew that he was in agony.
“I fell asleep. When I awakened41, in a moment or two, no doubt, I called to him in terror, for, had he too slept, he must have fallen and been washed away. He answered me in a moment, and then I roused myself from my lethargy and talked constantly. He held out till morning. Almost with the dawn I saw a glittering green mountain, that seemed to smoke like a volcano, rise above the ship, bend down, slip under my friend, roar again and recede28, holding triumphantly42 aloft that straight young figure. For the first time in my life I forgot myself and wept for the fate of another. Then I set my teeth in the face of that demoniacal storm and swore that I would not be conquered. I had survived Life. I would defy the mere elements. I thought of my voice, the voice my master had begged me, literally43 on his knees, to consecrate44 to the greatest r?les ever written. Sometimes he had thrilled me with an appetite for fame, independence, but intermittently45; perhaps because, although I had read those r?les again and again, I had never heard them, above all never known the ecstasy46 of singing them (he made me grind at tone production, scales, difficult exercises); perhaps because I was by no means giving my life to music alone. But now, abruptly47, the artist awoke to life. Alone in that raging waste of water, with death tugging48 at my very feet and screaming in my ears, I was born into the religion of art, received the sign that I had been chosen to worship at that shrine49, to be blest, to be lifted to its highest places—I—I—of all women! I saw far beyond those hungry waters. I no longer regretted my friend. What mattered it—the death of one mere mortal? I heard the cries of the Valkyrs as they rode across the sky on their winged horses. The black clouds rolled apart and I saw Wotan on his throne in Walhalla, the daughters of Erda, my sisters, about him . . . they besought50 him. . . . I could see the streaming of their hair, the flashing of their helmets and shields, as they ran back and forth51, leaned over the ramparts to encourage me with their cries: ‘Hi—ya—ha! Ho—yo—to—ho!’ I was Brünhilde on her rock. The waves were fire. Ah!” Styr flung her arms upward, her body backward, swaying from side to side. “I shall never have such exquisite52 delusions53 again. Never! Never! For one hour—or was it one moment?—I was a goddess. It was no delusion54! I was Brünhilde, awaking from a sleep, not of a generation, but of the centuries that had gone since she rode into the funeral pyre. I try to recall that ecstasy on the stage. Some of it comes back, but not all! Not all! I have a fancy that Death will bring it in his hand when he comes again.”
She dropped her arms, and her groping hand closed over the back of a chair. “I remember nothing of the rescue. I awoke in bed. They told me that I had slept for two days and nights, that I had been lashed to the mast for forty hours, alone for ten. They asked my name. I gave the first insignificant55 combination that entered my head. Charitable people advanced the money for my return to New York. I had money of my own there, for I had made profitable investments, when the whim for playing with gold instead of spending it had seized me. I revealed myself to no one but my banker and my singing teacher, and lived in obscure lodgings56 until I was pronounced fit to go to Bayreuth and ask The Master to listen to my voice. So far as any one else that had ever heard of me knew, I was dead, dead with the rest of that miserable57 company. And I was dead—for must not one die to be born again?”
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1
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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7
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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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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10
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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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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12
hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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14
infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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15
wrecks
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| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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16
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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17
athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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18
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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25
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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26
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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27
lurch
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| n.突然向前或旁边倒；v.蹒跚而行 | |
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28
recede
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| vi.退(去)，渐渐远去；向后倾斜，缩进 | |
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29
receded
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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30
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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38
tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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39
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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40
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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41
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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42
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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43
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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44
consecrate
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| v.使圣化，奉…为神圣；尊崇；奉献 | |
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45
intermittently
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| adv.间歇地；断断续续 | |
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46
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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47
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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48
tugging
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| n.牵引感v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
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49
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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50
besought
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| v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的过去式和过去分词 )；(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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51
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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52
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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53
delusions
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| n.欺骗( delusion的名词复数 )；谬见；错觉；妄想 | |
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54
delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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55
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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56
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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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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