Wonderfully strengthened, she was, by the voyage. Sorrow had destroyed large fields of verdure, and turned barren the future, but its devouring1 was finished. Quentin Charter was adjusted in her mind to a duality with which Paula Linster could have no concern. Only to one mistress could he be faithful; indeed, it was only in the presence of this mistress that he became the tower of visions to another; in the midst of the work he worshipped, Quentin Charter had heard the Skylark sing. Paula did not want to see him again, nor Selma Cross. To avoid these two, as well as the place where the Destroyer had learned so well to penetrate2, she had managed not to return to her apartment during the two days before sailing.... There would never be another master-romance—never again so rich a giving, nor so pure an ideal. Before this tragic3 reality, the inner glory of her womanhood became meaningless. It was this that made the future a crossing of sterile4 tundras,—yet she would keep her friends, and love her work, and try to hold her faith....
Bellingham did not call her at sea, but he had frightened her too profoundly to be far from mind. The face she had seen in the hall-way was drawn5 and disordered by the dreadful tortures of nether-planes; and awful in the eyes, was that feline7 vacancy8 of soul. Once in a dream, she saw him—a pale reptile-monster upreared from a salty sea, voiceless in that oceanic isolation9, a shameful10 secret of the depths. The ghastly bulk had risen with a mute protest to the sky against dissolution and creeping decay—and sounded again....
To her, Bellingham was living death, the triumph of desire which rends11 itself, the very essence of tragedy. She gladly would have died to make her race see the awfulness of just flesh—as she saw it now.... His power seemed ended; she felt with the Reifferscheids and Madame Nestor, that her secret was hermetic, and there was a goodly sense of security in the intervening sea....
And now there was a new island each day; each morning a fresh garden arose from the Caribbean—sun-wooed, rain-softened isles14 with colorful little ports.... There was one tropic city—she could not recall the name—which from the offing had looked like the flower-strewn gateway15 to an amphitheatre of mountains.
The Fruitlands had lain for a day in the hot, sharky harbor of Santiago; had run into a real cloudburst off the Silver Reefs of Santo Domingo, and breathed on the radiant next morning before the stately and ancient city of San Juan de Porto Rico—shining white as a dream-castle of old Spain, and adrift in an azure16 world of sky and sea. She spent a day and an evening in this isle13 of ripe fruits and riper amours; and took away materials for a memory composite of interminable siestas18, restless radiant nights, towering cliffs, incomparable courtesy, and soft-voiced maidens19 with wondrous20 Spanish eyes that laugh and turn away.
Then for two days they had steamed down past the saintly archipelago—St. Thomas, St. Martin, St. Kitts; then Montserrat, Guadeloupe, Dominica, and a legion of littler isles—truncated peaks jutting21 forth22 from fragrant23, tinted24 water. There were afternoons when she did not care to lift her voice or move about. Fruit-juices and the simplest salads, a flexible cane25 chair under the awnings26, a book to rest the eyes from the gorgeous sea and enchanted27 shores, somnolence28 rather than sleep—these are enough for the approach to perfection in the Caribbean, with the Lesser29 Antilles on the lee.... Then at last in late afternoon, the great hulking shape of Pelée loomed30 watery31 green against the sky; in the swift-speeding twilight32, the volcano seemed to swell33 and blacken until it was like the shadow of a continent, and the lights of Saint Pierre pricked34 off the edge of the land.
At last late at night, queerly restless, she sat alone on deck in the windless roadstead and regarded the illumined terraces of Saint Pierre. They had told her that the breath from Martinique was like the heavy moist sweetness of a horticultural garden, but the island must have been sick with fever this night, for a mile at sea the land-breeze was dry, devitalized, irritating the throat and nostrils35.
There was no moon, and the stars were so faint in the north that the mass of Pelée was scarcely shaped against the sky. The higher lights of the city had a reddish uncertain glow, as if a thin film of fog hung between them and the eye; but to the south the night cleared into pure purple and unsullied tropic stars. The harbor was weirdly36 hot.
Before her was the city which held the quest of her voyaging—Father Fontanel, the holy man of Saint Pierre.... Only a stranger can realize what a pure shining garment his actual flesh has become. To me there was healing in the very approach of the man.... This was the enduring fragment from the Charter letters; and in that dreadful Sunday night when she began her flight from Bellingham, already deep within her mind Father Fontanel was the goal.... Paula set out for shore early the next morning. The second-officer of the Fruitlands sat beside her in the launch. She spoke37 of the intense sultriness.
"Yes, Saint Pierre is glowing like a brazier," he said. "I was ashore38 last night for awhile. The people blame the mountain. Old Pelée has been acting39 up—showering the town with ash every little while lately. It's the taint40 of sulphur that spoils the air."
She turned apprehensively41 toward the volcano. La Montague Pelée, over the red-tiled roofs of Saint Pierre, looked huge like an Emperor of the Romans. Paled in the intense morning light, he wore a delicate ruching of white cloud about his crown. They stepped ashore on the Sugar Landing where Paula found a carriage to take her to the Hotel des Palms, a rare old plantation-house on the Morne d'Orange, recently converted for public use.
The ponies42 were ascending43 the rise in Rue44 Victor Hugo, at the southern end of the city, when Paula discovered the little Catholic church she had imaged for so many weeks, Notre Dame12 des Lourdes, niched away in the crowded streets with a Quebec-like quaintness45, and all the holier from its close association with the lowly shops. From these walls had risen the spiritual house of Father Fontanel—her far bright beacon46.... The porteuses, said to be the lithest, hardiest47 women of the occident48, wore a pitiable look of fatigue49, as they came down from the hill-trails, steadying the baskets upon their heads. The pressure of the heat, and the dispiriting atmosphere revealed their effects in the distended50 eyelids51 and colorless, twisted lips of the burden-bearers.
The ponies at length gained the eminence52 of the Morne d'Orange, and ahead she saw the broad, white plantation-house—Hotel des Palms. To the right was the dazzling, turquoise53 sea where the Fruitlands lay large among the shipping54, and near her a private sea-going yacht, nearly as long and angelically white. The broad verandas56 of the hotel were alluring57 with palms; the walls and portcullises were cooled with embroidering58 vines. Gardens flamed with poinsettias and roses, and a shaded grove59 of mango and India trees at the end of the lawn, was edged with moon flowerets and oleanders. Back of the plantation-house waved the sloping seas of cane; in front, the Caribbean. On the south rose the peaks of Carbet; on the north, the Monster.
Paula had hardly left the veranda55 of magnificent vistas60 two hours later, when the friendly captain of the Fruitlands approached with an elderly American, of distinguished61 appearance, whom he presented—Mr. Peter Stock, of Pittsburg.
"Since you are to leave us here, Miss Wyndam," the captain added, "I thought you would be glad to know Mr. Stock, who makes an annual cruise around these Islands—and knows them better than any American I've encountered yet. Yonder is his yacht—that clipper-built beauty just a bit in from the liner."
"I've already been admiring the yacht," Paula said, "and wondering her name. There's something Venetian about her dazzling whiteness in the soft, deep blue."
"I get it exactly, Miss Wyndam—that 'mirage62 of marble' in the Italian sky.... My craft is the Saragossa." His eyelids were tightened63 against the light, and the voice was sharp and brisk. His face, tropically tanned, contrasted effectively with the close-cropped hair and mustache, lustrous-white as his ship.... Paula having found the captain's courtesy and good sense invariable during the voyage, gladly accepted his friend, who proved most interesting on the matter of Pelée.
"I've stayed here in Saint Pierre longer now than usual," he told her, pointing toward the mountain, "to study the old man yonder. Pelée, you know, is identified with Martinique, much the same as the memory of Josephine; yet the people of the city can't seem to take his present disorder6 seriously. This is cataclysmic country. Hell—I use the word to signify a geological stratum—is very close to the surface down here. All these lovely islands are merely ash-piles hurled64 up by the great subterranean65 fires. The point is, Lost Atlantis is apt to stir any time under the Caribbean—and rub out our very pretty panorama66."
"You regard this as an entertainment worth waiting for?" Paula asked.
The vaguest sort of a smile passed over his eyes and touched his lips. "Pelée and I are very old friends. I spoke of the volcanic67 origin of these islands in the way of suggesting that any seismic68 activity in the archipelago—Pelée's present internal complaint, for instance,—should be taken significantly. Saint Pierre would have been white this morning—except for the heavy rain before dawn."
"You mean volcanic ash?"
"Exactly."
"That explains the white scum I saw in the gutters69, driving through the city.... But it isn't altogether a novelty, is it, for the mountain to behave this way?"
"I mean as a usual thing——"
He turned to her abruptly72 and inquired, "Didn't you know that there hasn't been a sound from Pelée for twenty years before the month of April now ending?"
This gave intimacy73 to the disorder. Mr. Stock was called away just now, but after dinner that night he joined Paula again on the great veranda.
"Ever been in Pittsburg?" he asked.
"No."
"I've only to shut my eyes in this second-hand74 air—to think I'm back among the steel mills of the lower Monongahela."
"The moon looks like beaten egg," Paula said with a slight shiver. "They must be suffering down in the city. You're the expert on Pelée, Mr. Stock, please tell me more about him."
He had been regarding the new moon, low and to the left of the Carbet peaks. It had none of the sharpness of outline peculiar75 to the tropics, but was blurred76 and of an orange hue77, instead of silvery. "It's the ash-fog in the air which has the effect of a fine wire screen," he explained. "We'll have a white world to-morrow, if it doesn't rain."
They turned to the north where a low rumbling71 was heard. It was like distant thunder, but the horizon beyond Pelée was unscathed by lightning.
"Are you really worried, Mr. Stock?"
"Why, it's as I said. The fact that Pelée is acting out of the ordinary is quite enough to make any one skeptical78 regarding his intentions."
He discussed familiarly certain of the man-eaters among the mountains of the world—Krakatoa, Bandaisan, Cotopaxi, Vesuvius, Ætna, calling them chronic79 old ruffians, whom Time doesn't tame.
"A thousand years is nothing to them," he added. "They wait, still as crocodiles, until seers have built their temples in the high rifts80 and cities have formed on their flanks. They have tasted blood, you see, and the madness comes back. Twenty years is only a siesta17. Pelée is a suspect."
"I think I should prefer to hear you tell the treachery of volcanoes outside of the fire-zone," she declared. "It's like listening to ghost stories in a haunted house."
Pelée rumbled81 again, and Paula's fingers involuntarily started toward his sleeve. The heavy wooden shutters82 of the great house rattled83 in the windless night; the ground upon which they stood seemed to wince84 at the Monster's pain. She was conscious of the fragrance85 of roses and magnolia blooms above the acrid86 taint of the air. Some strange freak of the atmosphere exerted a pressure upon the flowers, forcing a sudden expulsion of perfume. The young moon was a formless blotch87 now in the fouled88 sky. A sigh like the whimpering of many sick children was audible from the servants' cabins behind the hotel.... Later, from her own room, she saw the double chain of lights out in the harbor—the Saragossa pulling at her moorings among the lesser craft, like a bright empress in the midst of dusky maid-servants; and in the north was Vulcan struggling to contain the fury of his fluids. She was a little afraid of Pelée.
Very early abroad, Paula set out on her first pilgrimage to Notre Dame des Lourdes. Rain had not fallen in the night, and she regarded a white world, as Stock had promised, and the source of the phenomenon with the pastelle tints89 of early morning upon his huge eastern slope. She had slept little and with her face turned to the north. A cortege had passed before her in dream—all the destroyers of history, each with a vivid individuality, like the types of faces of all nations—the story of each and the desolation it had made among men and the works of men.
Most of them had given warning. Pelée was warning now. His warning was written upon the veins90 of every leaf, painted upon the curve of every blade of grass, sheeted evenly-white upon the red tiles of every roof. Gray dust blown by steam from the bursting quarries91 of the mountain clogged92 the gutters of the city and the throats of men. It was a moving, white cloud in the river, a chalky shading that marked the highest reach of the harbor tide. It settled in the hair of the children, and complicated the toil93 of bees in the nectar-cups. With league-long cerements, and with a voice that caused to tremble his dwarfed94 companions, the hills and mornes, great Pelée had proclaimed his warning in the night.
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1
devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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2
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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4
sterile
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| adj.不毛的，不孕的，无菌的，枯燥的，贫瘠的 | |
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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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6
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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feline
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| adj.猫科的 | |
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vacancy
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| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
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isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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11
rends
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| v.撕碎( rend的第三人称单数 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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12
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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15
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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16
azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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17
siesta
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| n.午睡 | |
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siestas
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| n.（气候炎热国家的）午睡，午休( siesta的名词复数 ) | |
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19
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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20
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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21
jutting
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| v.（使）突出( jut的现在分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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24
tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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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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26
awnings
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| 篷帐布 | |
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27
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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28
somnolence
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| n.想睡，梦幻；欲寐；嗜睡；嗜眠 | |
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29
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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30
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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31
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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32
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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33
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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34
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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35
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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weirdly
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| 古怪地 | |
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37
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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38
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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39
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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40
taint
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| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
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41
apprehensively
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| adv.担心地 | |
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42
ponies
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| 矮种马，小型马( pony的名词复数 )； ￡25 25 英镑 | |
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43
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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44
rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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45
quaintness
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| n.离奇有趣，古怪的事物 | |
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46
beacon
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| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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47
hardiest
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| 能吃苦耐劳的，坚强的( hardy的最高级 )； （植物等）耐寒的 | |
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48
occident
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| n.西方；欧美 | |
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49
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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50
distended
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| v.（使）膨胀，肿胀( distend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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52
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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53
turquoise
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| n.绿宝石；adj.蓝绿色的 | |
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54
shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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55
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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56
verandas
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| 阳台，走廊( veranda的名词复数 ) | |
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57
alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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58
embroidering
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| v.（在织物上）绣花( embroider的现在分词 )；刺绣；对…加以渲染（或修饰）；给…添枝加叶 | |
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59
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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60
vistas
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| 长条形景色( vista的名词复数 )； 回顾； 展望； （未来可能发生的）一系列情景 | |
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61
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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62
mirage
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景 | |
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63
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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64
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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65
subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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66
panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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67
volcanic
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| adj.火山的；象火山的；由火山引起的 | |
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68
seismic
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| a.地震的，地震强度的 | |
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69
gutters
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| （路边）排水沟( gutter的名词复数 )； 阴沟； （屋顶的）天沟； 贫贱的境地 | |
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70
grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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71
rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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72
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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73
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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74
second-hand
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| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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75
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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76
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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77
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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78
skeptical
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| adj.怀疑的，多疑的 | |
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79
chronic
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| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
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80
rifts
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| n.裂缝( rift的名词复数 )；裂隙；分裂；不和 | |
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81
rumbled
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| 发出隆隆声，发出辘辘声( rumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 轰鸣着缓慢行进； 发现…的真相； 看穿（阴谋） | |
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82
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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83
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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84
wince
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| n.畏缩，退避，（因痛苦，苦恼等)面部肌肉抽动；v.畏缩，退缩，退避 | |
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85
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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86
acrid
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| adj.辛辣的，尖刻的，刻薄的 | |
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87
blotch
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| n.大斑点；红斑点；v.使沾上污渍，弄脏 | |
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88
fouled
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| v.使污秽( foul的过去式和过去分词 )；弄脏；击球出界；（通常用废物）弄脏 | |
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89
tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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90
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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91
quarries
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| n.（采）石场( quarry的名词复数 )；猎物（指鸟，兽等）；方形石；（格窗等的）方形玻璃v.从采石场采得( quarry的第三人称单数 )；从（书本等中）努力发掘（资料等）；在采石场采石 | |
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92
clogged
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| （使）阻碍( clog的过去式和过去分词 )； 淤滞 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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94
dwarfed
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| vt.（使）显得矮小（dwarf的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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