By now also Cowperwood was so shrewd that he had the ability to simulate an affection and practise a gallantry which he did not feel, or, rather, that was not backed by real passion. He was the soul of attention; he would buy her flowers, jewels, knickknacks, and ornaments7; he would see that her comfort was looked after to the last detail; and yet, at the very same moment, perhaps, he would be looking cautiously about to see what life might offer in the way of illicit8 entertainment. Aileen knew this, although she could not prove it to be true. At the same time she had an affection and an admiration9 for the man which gripped her in spite of herself.
You have, perhaps, pictured to yourself the mood of some general who has perhaps suffered a great defeat; the employee who after years of faithful service finds himself discharged. What shall life say to the loving when their love is no longer of any value, when all that has been placed upon the altar of affection has been found to be a vain sacrifice? Philosophy? Give that to dolls to play with. Religion? Seek first the metaphysical-minded. Aileen was no longer the lithe10, forceful, dynamic girl of 1865, when Cowperwood first met her. She was still beautiful, it is true, a fair, full-blown, matronly creature not more than thirty-five, looking perhaps thirty, feeling, alas11, that she was a girl and still as attractive as ever. It is a grim thing to a woman, however fortunately placed, to realize that age is creeping on, and that love, that singing will-o’-the-wisp, is fading into the ultimate dark. Aileen, within the hour of her greatest triumph, had seen love die. It was useless to tell herself, as she did sometimes, that it might come back, revive. Her ultimately realistic temperament13 told her this could never be. Though she had routed Rita Sohlberg, she was fully14 aware that Cowperwood’s original constancy was gone. She was no longer happy. Love was dead. That sweet illusion, with its pearly pink for heart and borders, that laughing cherub15 that lures16 with Cupid’s mouth and misty17 eye, that young tendril of the vine of life that whispers of eternal spring-time, that calls and calls where aching, wearied feet by legion follow, was no longer in existence.
In vain the tears, the storms, the self-tortures; in vain the looks in the mirror, the studied examination of plump, sweet features still fresh and inviting18. One day, at the sight of tired circles under her eyes, she ripped from her neck a lovely ruche that she was adjusting and, throwing herself on her bed, cried as though her heart would break. Why primp? Why ornament6? Her Frank did not love her. What to her now was a handsome residence in Michigan Avenue, the refinements19 of a French boudoir, or clothing that ran the gamut20 of the dressmaker’s art, hats that were like orchids21 blooming in serried22 rows? In vain, in vain! Like the raven23 that perched above the lintel of the door, sad memory was here, grave in her widow weeds, crying “never more.” Aileen knew that the sweet illusion which had bound Cowperwood to her for a time had gone and would never come again. He was here. His step was in the room mornings and evenings; at night for long prosaic24, uninterrupted periods she could hear him breathing by her side, his hand on her body. There were other nights when he was not there—when he was “out of the city”—and she resigned herself to accept his excuses at their face value. Why quarrel? she asked herself. What could she do? She was waiting, waiting, but for what?
And Cowperwood, noting the strange, unalterable changes which time works in us all, the inward lap of the marks of age, the fluted25 recession of that splendor27 and radiance which is youth, sighed at times perhaps, but turned his face to that dawn which is forever breaking where youth is. Not for him that poetic28 loyalty29 which substitutes for the perfection of young love its memories, or takes for the glitter of passion and desire that once was the happy thoughts of companionship—the crystal memories that like early dews congealed30 remain beaded recollections to comfort or torture for the end of former joys. On the contrary, after the vanishing of Rita Sohlberg, with all that she meant in the way of a delicate insouciance31 which Aileen had never known, his temperament ached, for he must have something like that. Truth to say, he must always have youth, the illusion of beauty, vanity in womanhood, the novelty of a new, untested temperament, quite as he must have pictures, old porcelain32, music, a mansion33, illuminated34 missals, power, the applause of the great, unthinking world.
As has been said, this promiscuous35 attitude on Cowperwood’s part was the natural flowering out of a temperament that was chronically36 promiscuous, intellectually uncertain, and philosophically37 anarchistic38. From one point of view it might have been said of him that he was seeking the realization39 of an ideal, yet to one’s amazement40 our very ideals change at times and leave us floundering in the dark. What is an ideal, anyhow? A wraith41, a mist, a perfume in the wind, a dream of fair water. The soul-yearning of a girl like Antoinette Nowak was a little too strained for him. It was too ardent42, too clinging, and he had gradually extricated43 himself, not without difficulty, from that particular entanglement44. Since then he had been intimate with other women for brief periods, but to no great satisfaction—Dorothy Ormsby, Jessie Belle45 Hinsdale, Toma Lewis, Hilda Jewell; but they shall be names merely. One was an actress, one a stenographer47, one the daughter of one of his stock patrons, one a church-worker, a solicitor48 for charity coming to him to seek help for an orphan’s home. It was a pathetic mess at times, but so are all defiant49 variations from the accustomed drift of things. In the hardy50 language of Napoleon, one cannot make an omelette without cracking a number of eggs.
The coming of Stephanie Platow, Russian Jewess on one side of her family, Southwestern American on the other, was an event in Cowperwood’s life. She was tall, graceful51, brilliant, young, with much of the optimism of Rita Sohlberg, and yet endowed with a strange fatalism which, once he knew her better, touched and moved him. He met her on shipboard on the way to Goteborg. Her father, Isadore Platow, was a wealthy furrier of Chicago. He was a large, meaty, oily type of man—a kind of ambling52, gelatinous formula of the male, with the usual sound commercial instincts of the Jew, but with an errant philosophy which led him to believe first one thing and then another so long as neither interfered53 definitely with his business. He was an admirer of Henry George and of so altruistic54 a programme as that of Robert Owen, and, also, in his way, a social snob55. And yet he had married Susetta Osborn, a Texas girl who was once his bookkeeper. Mrs. Platow was lithe, amiable56, subtle, with an eye always to the main social chance—in other words, a climber. She was shrewd enough to realize that a knowledge of books and art and current events was essential, and so she “went in” for these things.
It is curious how the temperaments57 of parents blend and revivify in their children. As Stephanie grew up she had repeated in her very differing body some of her father’s and mother’s characteristics—an interesting variability of soul. She was tall, dark, sallow, lithe, with a strange moodiness58 of heart and a recessive59, fulgurous gleam in her chestnut-brown, almost brownish-black eyes. She had a full, sensuous60, Cupid’s mouth, a dreamy and even languishing61 expression, a graceful neck, and a heavy, dark, and yet pleasingly modeled face. From both her father and mother she had inherited a penchant62 for art, literature, philosophy, and music. Already at eighteen she was dreaming of painting, singing, writing poetry, writing books, acting—anything and everything. Serene63 in her own judgment64 of what was worth while, she was like to lay stress on any silly mood or fad12, thinking it exquisite—the last word. Finally, she was a rank voluptuary, dreaming dreams of passionate65 union with first one and then another type of artist, poet, musician—the whole gamut of the artistic66 and emotional world.
Cowperwood first saw her on board the Centurion67 one June morning, as the ship lay at dock in New York. He and Aileen were en route for Norway, she and her father and mother for Denmark and Switzerland. She was hanging over the starboard rail looking at a flock of wide-winged gulls68 which were besieging69 the port of the cook’s galley70. She was musing71 soulfully—conscious (fully) that she was musing soulfully. He paid very little attention to her, except to note that she was tall, rhythmic72, and that a dark-gray plaid dress, and an immense veil of gray silk wound about her shoulders and waist and over one arm, after the manner of a Hindu shawl, appeared to become her much. Her face seemed very sallow, and her eyes ringed as if indicating dyspepsia. Her black hair under a chic5 hat did not escape his critical eye. Later she and her father appeared at the captain’s table, to which the Cowperwoods had also been invited.
Cowperwood and Aileen did not know how to take this girl, though she interested them both. They little suspected the chameleon73 character of her soul. She was an artist, and as formless and unstable74 as water. It was a mere46 passing gloom that possessed75 her. Cowperwood liked the semi-Jewish cast of her face, a certain fullness of the neck, her dark, sleepy eyes. But she was much too young and nebulous, he thought, and he let her pass. On this trip, which endured for ten days, he saw much of her, in different moods, walking with a young Jew in whom she seemed greatly interested, playing at shuffleboard, reading solemnly in a corner out of the reach of the wind or spray, and usually looking naive76, preternaturally innocent, remote, dreamy. At other times she seemed possessed of a wild animation77, her eyes alight, her expression vigorous, an intense glow in her soul. Once he saw her bent78 over a small wood block, cutting a book-plate with a thin steel graving tool.
Because of Stephanie’s youth and seeming unimportance, her lack of what might be called compelling rosy79 charm, Aileen had become reasonably friendly with the girl. Far subtler, even at her years, than Aileen, Stephanie gathered a very good impression of the former, of her mental girth, and how to take her. She made friends with her, made a book-plate for her, made a sketch80 of her. She confided81 to Aileen that in her own mind she was destined82 for the stage, if her parents would permit; and Aileen invited her to see her husband’s pictures on their return. She little knew how much of a part Stephanie would play in Cowperwood’s life.
The Cowperwoods, having been put down at Goteborg, saw no more of the Platows until late October. Then Aileen, being lonely, called to see Stephanie, and occasionally thereafter Stephanie came over to the South Side to see the Cowperwoods. She liked to roam about their house, to dream meditatively83 in some nook of the rich interior, with a book for company. She liked Cowperwood’s pictures, his jades84, his missals, his ancient radiant glass. From talking with Aileen she realized that the latter had no real love for these things, that her expressions of interest and pleasure were pure make-believe, based on their value as possessions. For Stephanie herself certain of the illuminated books and bits of glass had a heavy, sensuous appeal, which only the truly artistic can understand. They unlocked dark dream moods and pageants85 for her. She responded to them, lingered over them, experienced strange moods from them as from the orchestrated richness of music.
And in doing so she thought of Cowperwood often. Did he really like these things, or was he just buying them to be buying them? She had heard much of the pseudo artistic—the people who made a show of art. She recalled Cowperwood as he walked the deck of the Centurion. She remembered his large, comprehensive, embracing blue-gray eyes that seemed to blaze with intelligence. He seemed to her quite obviously a more forceful and significant man than her father, and yet she could not have said why. He always seemed so trigly dressed, so well put together. There was a friendly warmth about all that he said or did, though he said or did little. She felt that his eyes were mocking, that back in his soul there was some kind of humor over something which she did not understand quite.
After Stephanie had been back in Chicago six months, during which time she saw very little of Cowperwood, who was busy with his street-railway programme, she was swept into the net of another interest which carried her away from him and Aileen for the time being. On the West Side, among a circle of her mother’s friends, had been organized an Amateur Dramatic League, with no less object than to elevate the stage. That world-old problem never fails to interest the new and the inexperienced. It all began in the home of one of the new rich of the West Side—the Timberlakes. They, in their large house on Ashland Avenue, had a stage, and Georgia Timberlake, a romantic-minded girl of twenty with flaxen hair, imagined she could act. Mrs. Timberlake, a fat, indulgent mother, rather agreed with her. The whole idea, after a few discursive86 performances of Milton’s “The Masque of Comus,” “Pyramus and Thisbe,” and an improved Harlequin and Columbine, written by one of the members, was transferred to the realm of the studios, then quartered in the New Arts Building. An artist by the name of Lane Cross, a portrait-painter, who was much less of an artist than he was a stage director, and not much of either, but who made his living by hornswaggling society into the belief that he could paint, was induced to take charge of these stage performances.
By degrees the “Garrick Players,” as they chose to call themselves, developed no little skill and craftsmanship87 in presenting one form and another of classic and semi-classic play. “Romeo and Juliet,” with few properties of any kind, “The Learned Ladies” of Moliere, Sheridan’s “The Rivals,” and the “Elektra” of Sophocles were all given. Considerable ability of one kind and another was developed, the group including two actresses of subsequent repute on the American stage, one of whom was Stephanie Platow. There were some ten girls and women among the active members, and almost as many men—a variety of characters much too extended to discuss here. There was a dramatic critic by the name of Gardner Knowles, a young man, very smug and handsome, who was connected with the Chicago Press. Whipping his neatly88 trousered legs with his bright little cane89, he used to appear at the rooms of the players at the Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday teas which they inaugurated, and discuss the merits of the venture. Thus the Garrick Players were gradually introduced into the newspapers. Lane Cross, the smooth-faced, pasty-souled artist who had charge, was a rake at heart, a subtle seducer90 of women, who, however, escaped detection by a smooth, conventional bearing. He was interested in such girls as Georgia Timberlake, Irma Ottley, a rosy, aggressive maiden91 who essayed comic roles, and Stephanie Platow. These, with another girl, Ethel Tuckerman, very emotional and romantic, who could dance charmingly and sing, made up a group of friends which became very close. Presently intimacies92 sprang up, only in this realm, instead of ending in marriage, they merely resulted in sex liberty. Thus Ethel Tuckerman became the mistress of Lane Cross; an illicit attachment93 grew up between Irma Ottley and a young society idler by the name of Bliss94 Bridge; and Gardner Knowles, ardently95 admiring Stephanie Platow literally96 seized upon her one afternoon in her own home, when he went ostensibly to interview her, and overpersuaded her. She was only reasonably fond of him, not in love; but, being generous, nebulous, passionate, emotional, inexperienced, voiceless, and vainly curious, without any sense of the meums and teums that govern society in such matters, she allowed this rather brutal97 thing to happen. She was not a coward—was too nebulous and yet forceful to be such. Her parents never knew. And once so launched, another world—that of sex satisfaction—began to dawn on her.
Were these young people evil? Let the social philosopher answer. One thing is certain: They did not establish homes and raise children. On the contrary, they led a gay, butterfly existence for nearly two years; then came a gift in the lute26. Quarrels developed over parts, respective degrees of ability, and leadership. Ethel Tuckerman fell out with Lane Cross, because she discovered him making love to Irma Ottley. Irma and Bliss Bridge released each other, the latter transferring his affections to Georgia Timberlake. Stephanie Platow, by far the most individual of them all, developed a strange inconsequence as to her deeds. It was when she was drawing near the age of twenty that the affair with Gardner Knowles began. After a time Lane Cross, with his somewhat earnest attempt at artistic interpretation98 and his superiority in the matter of years—he was forty, and young Knowles only twenty-four—seemed more interesting to Stephanie, and he was quick to respond. There followed an idle, passionate union with this man, which seemed important, but was not so at all. And then it was that Stephanie began dimly to perceive that it was on and on that the blessings99 lie, that somewhere there might be some man much more remarkable100 than either of these; but this was only a dream. She thought of Cowperwood at times; but he seemed to her to be too wrapped up in grim tremendous things, far apart from this romantic world of amateur dramatics in which she was involved.
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1
chili
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| n.辣椒 | |
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soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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anticipations
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| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
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eventual
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| adj.最后的，结局的，最终的 | |
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chic
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| n./adj.别致(的)，时髦(的)，讲究的 | |
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ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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illicit
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| adj.非法的，禁止的，不正当的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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fad
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| n.时尚；一时流行的狂热；一时的爱好 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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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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cherub
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| n.小天使，胖娃娃 | |
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lures
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| 吸引力，魅力（lure的复数形式） | |
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misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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refinements
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| n.（生活）风雅；精炼( refinement的名词复数 )；改良品；细微的改良；优雅或高贵的动作 | |
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gamut
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| n.全音阶，(一领域的)全部知识 | |
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orchids
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| n.兰花( orchid的名词复数 ) | |
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serried
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| adj.拥挤的；密集的 | |
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raven
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| n.渡鸟，乌鸦；adj.乌亮的 | |
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prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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fluted
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| a.有凹槽的 | |
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lute
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| n.琵琶，鲁特琴 | |
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splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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congealed
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| v.使凝结，冻结( congeal的过去式和过去分词 )；（指血）凝结 | |
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insouciance
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| n.漠不关心 | |
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porcelain
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| n.瓷；adj.瓷的，瓷制的 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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promiscuous
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| adj.杂乱的，随便的 | |
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chronically
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| ad.长期地 | |
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philosophically
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| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
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anarchistic
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| 无政府主义的 | |
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realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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wraith
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| n.幽灵；骨瘦如柴的人 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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extricated
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| v.使摆脱困难，脱身( extricate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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entanglement
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| n.纠缠，牵累 | |
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belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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stenographer
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| n.速记员 | |
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solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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51
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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52
ambling
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| v.（马）缓行( amble的现在分词 )；从容地走，漫步 | |
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interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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altruistic
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| adj.无私的，为他人着想的 | |
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snob
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| n.势利小人，自以为高雅、有学问的人 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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temperaments
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| 性格( temperament的名词复数 )； （人或动物的）气质； 易冲动； （性情）暴躁 | |
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moodiness
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| n.喜怒无常；喜怒无常，闷闷不乐；情绪 | |
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recessive
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| adj.退行的，逆行的，后退的，隐性的 | |
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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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languishing
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| a. 衰弱下去的 | |
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penchant
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| n.爱好，嗜好；（强烈的）倾向 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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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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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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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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centurion
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| n.古罗马的百人队长 | |
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68
gulls
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| n.鸥( gull的名词复数 )v.欺骗某人( gull的第三人称单数 ) | |
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69
besieging
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的现在分词 ) | |
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70
galley
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| n.（飞机或船上的）厨房单层甲板大帆船；军舰舰长用的大划艇； | |
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71
musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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72
rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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73
chameleon
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| n.变色龙，蜥蜴；善变之人 | |
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unstable
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| adj.不稳定的，易变的 | |
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75
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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naive
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| adj.幼稚的，轻信的；天真的 | |
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animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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78
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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79
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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80
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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81
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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82
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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83
meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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84
jades
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| n.玉，翡翠（jade的复数形式）v.（使）疲（jade的第三人称单数形式） | |
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85
pageants
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| n.盛装的游行( pageant的名词复数 )；穿古代服装的游行；再现历史场景的娱乐活动；盛会 | |
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86
discursive
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| adj.离题的，无层次的 | |
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87
craftsmanship
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| n.手艺 | |
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88
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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89
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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90
seducer
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| n.诱惑者,骗子,玩弄女性的人 | |
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91
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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92
intimacies
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| 亲密( intimacy的名词复数 )； 密切； 亲昵的言行； 性行为 | |
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attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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94
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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ardently
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| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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98
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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99
blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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100
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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