The revue being a failure, the auditorium7 was more than half empty. In the Promenade to each man there were at least five pretty ladies, and the ladies looked gloomily across many rows of vacant seats at the bright proscenium where jocularities of an exacerbating8 tedium9 were being enacted10. Not that the jocularities were inane11 beyond the usual, but failure made them seem so. None had the slightest idea why the revue had failed; for precisely12 similar revues, concocted13 according to the same recipe and full of the same jocularities executed by the same players at the same salaries, had crowded the theatre for many months together. It was an incomprehensible universe.
It was long after ten o'clock, and an exquisite15 faint light lingering in the sky still revealed the features of the people in the streets. The man who had devoted16 half a life to the ingenious project of lengthening17 the summer days by altering clocks was in his disappointed grave; but victory had come to him there, for statesmen had at last proved the possibility of that which they had always maintained to be impossible, and the wisdom of that which they had always maintained to be idiotic18. The voluptuous19 divine melancholy20 of evening June descended21 upon the city from the sky, and even sounds were beautifully sad. The happy progress of the war could not exorcise this soft, omnipotent22 melancholy. Yet the progress of the war was nearly all that could be desired. Verdun was held, and if Fort Vaux had been lost there had been compensation in the fact that the enemy, through the gesture of the Crown Prince in allowing the captured commander of the fort to retain his sword, had done something to rehabilitate23 themselves in the esteem24 of mankind. Lord Kitchener was drowned, but the discovery had been announced that he was not indispensable; indeed, there were those who said that it was better thus. The Easter Rebellion was well in hand; order was understood to reign25 in an Ireland hidden behind the black veil of the censorship. The mighty26 naval27 battle of Jutland had quickly transformed itself from a defeat into a brilliant triumph. The disturbing prices of food were about to be reduced by means of a committee. In America the Republican forces were preparing to eject President Wilson in favour of another Hughes who could be counted upon to realise the world-destiny of the United States. An economic conference was assembling in Paris with the object of cutting Germany off from the rest of the human race after the war. And in eleven days the Russians had made prisoners of a hundred and fifty thousand Austrians, and Brusiloff had just said: "This is only the beginning." Lastly the close prospect28 of the resistless Allied29 Western offensive which would deracinate Prussian militarism was uplifting men's minds.
Christine walked nonchalantly and uninvitingly through the streets, quite unresponsive to the exhilaration of events.
"Marthe!" she called, when she had let herself into the flat. Contrary to orders, the little hall was in darkness. There was no answer. She lit the hall and passed into the kitchen, lighting30 it also. There, in the terrible and incurable31 squalor of Marthe's own kitchen, Marthe's apron5 was thrown untidily across the back of the solitary32 windsor chair. She knew then that Marthe had gone out, and in truth, although very annoyed, she was not altogether surprised.
Marthe had a mysterious love affair. It was astonishing, in view of the intensely aphrodisiacal atmosphere in which she lived, that Marthe did not continually have love affairs. But the day of love had seemed for Marthe to be over, and Christine found great difficulty in getting her ever to leave the flat, save on necessary household errands. On the other hand it was astonishing that any man should be attracted by the fat slattern. The moth33 now fluttering round her was an Italian waiter, as to whom Christine had learnt that he was being unjustly hunted by the Italian military authorities. Hence the mystery necessarily attaching to the love affair. Being French, Christine despised him. He called Marthe by her right name of "Marta," and Christine had more than once heard the pair gabbling in the kitchen in Italian. Just as though she had been a conventional bourgeoise Christine now accused Marthe of ingratitude34 because the woman was subordinating Christine's convenience to the supreme35 exigencies36 of fate. A man's freedom might be in the balance, Marthe's future might be in the balance; but supposing that Christine had come home with a gallant—and no femme de chambre to do service!
She walked about the flat, shut the windows, drew the blinds, removed her hat, removed her gloves, stretched them, put her things away; she gazed at the two principal rooms, at the soiled numbers of La Vie Parisienne and the cracked bric-à-brac in the drawing-room, at the rent in the lace bedcover, and the foul37 mess of toilet apparatus38 in the bedroom. The forlorn emptiness of the place appalled39 her. She had been quite fairly successful in her London career. Hundreds of men had caressed40 her and paid her with compliments and sweets and money. She had been really admired. The flat had had gay hours. Unmistakable aristocrats41 had yielded to her. And she had escaped the five scourges42 of her profession....
It was all over. The chapter was closed. She saw nothing in front of her but decline and ruin. She had escaped the five scourges of her profession, but part of the price of this immunity43 was that through keeping herself to herself she had not a friend. Despite her profession, and because of the prudence44 with which she exercised it, she was a solitary, a recluse45.
Yes, of course she had Gilbert. She could count upon Gilbert to a certain extent, to a considerable extent; but he would not be eternal, and his fancy for her would not be eternal. Once, before Easter, she had had the idea that he meant to suggest to her an exclusive liaison46. Foolish! Nothing, less than nothing, had come of it. He would not be such an imbecile as to suggest such a thing to her. Miracles did not happen, at any rate not that kind of miracle.
In the midst of her desolation an old persistent47 dream revisited her: the dream of a small country cottage in France, with a dog, a faithful servant, respectability, good name, works of charity, her own praying-stool in the village church. She moved to the wardrobe and unlocked one of the drawers beneath the wide doors. And rummaging48 under the linen49 and under the photographs under the linen she drew forth50 a package and spread its contents on the table in the drawing-room. Her securities, her bonds of the City of Paris, ever increasing! Gilbert had tried to induce her to accept more attractive investments. But she would not. Never! These were her consols, part of her religion. Bonds of the City of Paris had fallen in value, but not in her dogmatic esteem. The passionate51 little miser52 that was in her surveyed them with pleasure, even with assurance; but they were still far too few to stand for the realisation of her dream. And she might have to sell some of them soon in order to live. She replaced them carefully in the drawer with dejection unabated.
When she glanced at the table again she saw an envelope. Inexplicably53 she had not noticed it before. She seized it in hope—and recognised in the address the curious hand of her landlord. It contained a week's notice to quit. The tenancy of the flat was weekly. This was the last blow. All the invisible powers of London were conspiring54 together to shatter the profession. What in the name of the Holy Virgin55 had come over the astounding56, incomprehensible city? Then there was a ring at the bell. Marthe? No, Marthe would never ring; she had a key and she would creep in. A lover? A rich, spendthrift, kind lover? Hope flickered57 anew in her desolated58 heart.
It was the other pretty lady—a newcomer—who lived in the house: a rather stylish59 woman of about thirty-five, unusually fair, with regular features and a very dignified60 carriage, indeed not unimposing. They had met once, at the foot of the stairs. Christine was not sure of her name. She proclaimed herself to be Russian, but Christine doubted the assertion. Her French had no trace of a foreign accent; and in view of the achieve-merits of the Russian Army ladies were finding it advantageous61 to be of Russian blood. Still she had a fine cosmopolitan62 air to which Christine could not pretend. They engaged each other in glances.
"I hope I do not disturb you, madame."
"Not at all, madame. I am obliged to open the door myself because my servant is out."
"I thought I heard you come in, and so—"
"No," interrupted Christine, determined63 not to admit the defeat of having returned from the Promenade alone. "I have not been out. Probably it was my servant you heard."
"Ah!... Without doubt."
"Will you give yourself the trouble to enter, madame?"
"Ah!" exclaimed the Russian, in the sitting-room64. "You will excuse me, madame, but what a beautiful photograph!"
They sat down.
"You are deliciously installed here," said the Russian perfunctorily, looking round. "Now, madame, I have been here only three weeks. And to-night I receive a notice to quit. Shall I be indiscreet if I ask if you have received a similar notice?"
"This very evening," said Christine, in secret still more disconcerted by this further proof of a general plot against human nature. She was about to add: "I found it here on my return home," but, remembering her fib, managed to stop in time.
"Well, madame, I know little of London. Without doubt you know London to the bottom. Is it serious, this notice?"
"I think so."
"Quite serious?"
Christine said:
"You see, there is a crisis. It is the war that in London has led to the discovery that men have desires. Of course, it will pass, but—"
"You do not by hazard know where one can find flats to let? I hear speak of Bloomsbury and of Long Acre. But it seems to me that those quarters—"
"I am in London since now more than eighteen months," said Christine. "And as for all those things I know little. I have lived here in this flat all the time, and I go out so rarely—"
The Russian put in with eagerness:
"Oh, I also! I go out, so to speak, not at all."
"I thought I had seen you once in the Promenade at the—"
"Yes, it is true," interrupted the Russian quickly. "I went from curiosity, for distraction68. You see, since the war I have lived in Dublin. I had there a friend, very highly placed in the administration. He married. One lived terrible hours during the revolt. I decided69 to come to London, especially as—However, I do not wish to fatigue70 you with all that."
Christine said nothing. The Irish Rebellion did not interest her. She was in no mood for talking about the Irish Rebellion. She had convinced herself that all Sinn Feiners were in German pay, and naught71 else mattered. Never, she thought, had the British Government carried ingenuousness72 further than in this affair! Given a free hand, Christine with her strong, direct common sense would have settled the Irish question in forty-eight hours.
The Russian, after a little pause, continued:
"I merely wished to ask you whether the notice to quit was serious—not a trick for raising the rent."
Christine shook her head to the last clause.
"And then, if the notice was quite serious, whether you knew of any flats—not too dear.... Not that I mind a good rent if one receives the value of it, and is left tranquil73."
The conversation might at this point have taken a more useful turn if Christine had not felt bound to hold herself up against the other's high tone of indifference74 to expenditure75. The Russian, in demanding "tranquillity," had admitted that she regularly practised the profession—or, as English girls strangely called it, "the business"—and Christine could have followed her lead into the region of gossiping and intimate realism where detailed76 confidences are enlighteningly exchanged; but the tone about money was a challenge.
"I should have been enchanted77 to be of service to you," said Christine. "But I know nothing. I go out less and less. As for this notice, I smile at it. I have a friend upon whom I can count for everything. I have only to tell him, and he will put me among my own furniture at once. He has indeed already suggested it. So that, je m'en fiche."
"I also!" said the Russian. "My new friend—he is a colonel, sent from Dublin to London—has insisted upon putting me among my own furniture. But I have refused so far—because one likes to know more of a gentleman—does not one?—before ..."
"Truly!" murmured Christine.
"And there is always Paris," said the Russian.
"But I thought you were from Petrograd."
"Yes. But I know Paris well. Ah! There is only Paris! Paris is a second home to me."
"Can one get a passport easily for Paris?... I mean, supposing the air-raids grew too dangerous again."
"Why not, madame? If one has one's papers. To get a passport from Paris to London, that would be another thing, I admit.... I see that you play," the Russian added, rising, with a gesture towards the piano. "I have heard you play. You play with true taste. I know, for when a girl I played much."
"You flatter me."
"Not at all. I think your friend plays too."
"Ah!" said Christine. "He!... It is an artist, that one."
They turned over the music, exchanged views about waltzes, became enthusiastic, laughed, and parted amid manifestations78 of good breeding and goodwill79. As soon as Christine was alone, she sat down and wept. She could not longer contain her distress80. Paris gleamed before her. But no! It was a false gleam. She could not make a new start in Paris during the war. The adventure would be too perilous81; the adventure might end in a licensed82 house. And yet in London—what was there in London but, ultimately, the pavement? And the pavement meant complications with the police, with prowlers, with other women; it meant all the scourges of the profession, including probably alcoholism. It meant prostitution, to which she had never sunk!
She wished she had been killed outright83 in the air-raid. She had an idea of going to the Oratory84 the next morning, and perhaps choosing a new Virgin and soliciting85 favour of the image thereof. She sobbed87, and, sobbing88, suddenly jumped up and ran to the telephone. And even as she gave Gilbert's number, she broke it in the middle with a sob86. After all, there was Gilbert.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
rumour
|
|
| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
promenade
|
|
| n./v.散步 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
frivolous
|
|
| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
aprons
|
|
| 围裙( apron的名词复数 )； 停机坪，台口（舞台幕前的部份） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
apron
|
|
| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
woe
|
|
| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
auditorium
|
|
| n.观众席，听众席；会堂，礼堂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
exacerbating
|
|
| v.使恶化，使加重( exacerbate的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
tedium
|
|
| n.单调；烦闷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
enacted
|
|
| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
inane
|
|
| adj.空虚的，愚蠢的，空洞的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
precisely
|
|
| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
concocted
|
|
| v.将（尤指通常不相配合的）成分混合成某物( concoct的过去式和过去分词 )；调制；编造；捏造 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
shrugged
|
|
| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
exquisite
|
|
| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
lengthening
|
|
| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的现在分词 )； 加长 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
idiotic
|
|
| adj.白痴的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
voluptuous
|
|
| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
descended
|
|
| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
omnipotent
|
|
| adj.全能的，万能的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
rehabilitate
|
|
| vt.改造(罪犯)，修复；vi.复兴，(罪犯)经受改造 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
esteem
|
|
| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
reign
|
|
| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
naval
|
|
| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
prospect
|
|
| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
allied
|
|
| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
lighting
|
|
| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
incurable
|
|
| adj.不能医治的，不能矫正的，无救的；n.不治的病人，无救的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
solitary
|
|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
moth
|
|
| n.蛾，蛀虫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
ingratitude
|
|
| n.忘恩负义 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
supreme
|
|
| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
exigencies
|
|
| n.急切需要 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
foul
|
|
| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
apparatus
|
|
| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
appalled
|
|
| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
caressed
|
|
| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
aristocrats
|
|
| n.贵族( aristocrat的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
scourges
|
|
| 带来灾难的人或东西，祸害( scourge的名词复数 )； 鞭子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
immunity
|
|
| n.优惠；免除；豁免，豁免权 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
prudence
|
|
| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
recluse
|
|
| n.隐居者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
liaison
|
|
| n.联系，（未婚男女间的）暖昧关系，私通 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
persistent
|
|
| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
rummaging
|
|
| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的现在分词 )； 海关检查 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
linen
|
|
| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
passionate
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
miser
|
|
| n.守财奴，吝啬鬼 (adj.miserly) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
inexplicably
|
|
| adv.无法说明地，难以理解地，令人难以理解的是 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
conspiring
|
|
| 密谋( conspire的现在分词 )； 搞阴谋； （事件等）巧合； 共同导致 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
virgin
|
|
| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
astounding
|
|
| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
flickered
|
|
| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
desolated
|
|
| adj.荒凉的，荒废的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
stylish
|
|
| adj.流行的，时髦的；漂亮的，气派的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
dignified
|
|
| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
advantageous
|
|
| adj.有利的；有帮助的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
cosmopolitan
|
|
| adj.世界性的，全世界的，四海为家的，全球的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
sitting-room
|
|
| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
amiable
|
|
| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
grotesque
|
|
| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
distraction
|
|
| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
fatigue
|
|
| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
naught
|
|
| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
ingenuousness
|
|
| n.率直；正直；老实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
tranquil
|
|
| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
indifference
|
|
| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
expenditure
|
|
| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
detailed
|
|
| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
enchanted
|
|
| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
manifestations
|
|
| n.表示，显示（manifestation的复数形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
goodwill
|
|
| n.善意，亲善，信誉，声誉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
distress
|
|
| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
perilous
|
|
| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
licensed
|
|
| adj.得到许可的v.许可，颁发执照(license的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
outright
|
|
| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
oratory
|
|
| n.演讲术；词藻华丽的言辞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
soliciting
|
|
| v.恳求( solicit的现在分词 )；（指娼妇）拉客；索求；征求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
sob
|
|
| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
sobbed
|
|
| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
sobbing
|
|
| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |