The sole flaw in the melancholy8 beauty of the episode was that Henry was never once within ten miles of being seriously ill. He was incapable9 of being seriously ill. He happened to be one of those individuals who, when they 'take' a disease, seem to touch it only with the tips of their fingers: such was his constitution. He had the measles10, admittedly. His temperature rose one night to a hundred and three, and for a few brief moments his mother and Aunt Annie enjoyed visions of fighting the grim spectre of Death. The tiny round pink spots covered his face and then ran together into a general vermilion. He coughed exquisitely11. His beard grew. He supported life on black-currant tea and an atmosphere impregnated with eucalyptus12. He underwent the examination of the doctor every day at eleven. But he was not personally and genuinely ill. He did not feel ill, and he said so. His most disquieting13 symptom was boredom14. This energetic organism chafed15 under the bed-clothes and the black-currant tea and the hushed eucalyptic calm of the chamber. He fervently16 desired to be up and active and stressful. His mother and aunt cogitated17 in vain to hit on some method of allaying18 the itch19 for work. And then one day—it was the day before Christmas—his mother chanced to say:
'You might try to write out that story you told us about—when you are a little stronger. It would be something for you to do.'
Henry shook his head sheepishly.
'Oh no!' he said; 'I was only joking.'
'I'm sure you could write it quite nicely,' his mother insisted.
And Henry shook his head again, and coughed. 'No,' he said. 'I hope I shall have something better to do than write stories.'
'But just to pass the time!' pleaded Aunt Annie.
The fact was that, several weeks before, while his thoughts had been engaged in analyzing21 the detrimental22 qualities of the Stream of Trashy Novels Constantly Poured Forth23 by the Press, Henry had himself been visited by a notion for a story. He had scornfully ejected it as an inopportune intruder; but it had returned, and at length, to get rid for ever of this troublesome guest, he had instinctively24 related the outline of the tale over the tea-table. And the outline had been pronounced wonderful. 'It might be called Love in Babylon—Babylon being London, you know,' he had said. And Aunt Annie had exclaimed: 'What a pretty title!' Whereupon Henry had remarked contemptuously and dismissingly: 'Oh, it was just an idea I had, that's all!' And the secret thought of both ladies had been, 'That busy brain is never still.'
As the shades of Christmas Eve began to fall, Aunt Annie was seated by the sick-bed, engaged in making entries in the household washing-book with a lead pencil. Henry lay with his eyes closed. Mrs. Knight25 was out shopping. Presently there was a gentle ting of the front-door bell; then a protracted26 silence; then another gentle ting.
'Bless the girl! Why doesn't she answer the door?' Aunt Annie whispered to herself, listening hard.
A third time the bell rang, and Aunt Annie, anathematizing the whole race of servants, got up, put the washing-book on the dressing-table, lighted the gas and turned it low, and descended27 to answer the door in person and to behead Sarah.
More than an hour elapsed before either sister re-entered Henry's room—events on the ground-floor had been rather exciting—and then they appeared together, bearing a bird, and some mince-tarts on a plate, and a card. Henry was wide awake.
'This is a surprise, dear,' began Mrs. Knight. 'Just listen: "With Sir George Powell's hearty28 greetings and best wishes for a speedy recovery!" A turkey and six mince-tarts. Isn't it thoughtful of him?'
'It's just like the governor,' said Henry, smiling, and feeling the tenderness of the turkey.
'He is a true gentleman,' said Aunt Annie.
'And we've sent round to the doctor to ask, and he says there's no harm in your having half a mince-tart; so we've warmed it. And you are to have a slice off the breast of the turkey to-morrow.'
'Good!' was Henry's comment. He loved a savoury mouthful, and these dainties were an unexpected bliss29, for the ladies had not dreamt of Christmas fare in the sad crisis, even for themselves.
Aunt Annie, as if struck by a sudden blow, glanced aside at the gas.
'I could have been certain I left the gas turned down,' she remarked.
'I turned it up,' said Henry.
'You got out of bed! Oh, Henry! And[Pg 77] your temperature was a hundred and two only the day before yesterday!'
He drew from under the bed-clothes the household washing-book. And there, nearly at the top of a page, were Aunt Annie's last interrupted strokes:
'2 Ch——'
and underneath31:
'Love in Babylon'
and the commencement of the tale. The marvellous man had covered nine pages of the washing-book.
Within twenty-four hours, not only Henry, but his mother and aunt, had become entirely32 absorbed in Henry's tale. The ladies wondered how he thought of it all, and Henry himself wondered a little, too. It seemed to 'come,' without trouble and almost without invitation. It cost no effort. The process was as though Henry acted merely as the amanuensis of a great creative power concealed33 somewhere in the recesses34 of his vital parts. Fortified35 by two halves of a mince-tart and several slices of Sir George's turkey, he filled the washing-book full up before dusk on Christmas Day; and on Boxing Day, despite the faint admiring protests of his nurses, he made a considerable hole in a quire of the best ruled essay-paper. Instead of showing signs of fatigue36, Henry appeared to grow stronger every hour, and to revel37 more and more in the sweet labour of composition; while the curiosity of the nurses about the exact nature of what Henry termed the dénouement increased steadily38 and constantly. The desires of those friends who had wished a Happy Christmas to the household were generously gratified.
It was a love tale, of course. And it began thus, the first line consisting of a single word, and the second of three words:
'Babylon!
'And in winter!
'The ladies' waiting-room on the arrival platform of one of our vast termini was unoccupied save for the solitary39 figure of a young and beautiful girl, who, clad in a thin but still graceful40 costume, crouched41 shivering over the morsel42 of fire which the greed of a great company alone permitted to its passengers. Outside resounded43 the roar and shriek44 of trains, the ceaseless ebb45 and flow of the human tide which beats for ever on the shores of modern Babylon. Enid Anstruther gazed sadly into the embers. She had come to the end of her resources. Suddenly the door opened, and Enid looked up, naturally expecting to see one of her own sex. But it was a man's voice, fresh and strong, which exclaimed: "Oh, I beg pardon!" The two glanced at each other, and then Enid sank backwards46.'
Such were the opening sentences of Love in Babylon.
Enid was an orphan47, and had come to London in order to obtain a situation in a draper's shop. Unfortunately, she had lost her purse on the way. Her reason for sinking back in the waiting-room was that she had fainted from cold, hunger, and fatigue. Thus she and the man, Adrian Tempest, became acquainted, and Adrian's first gift to her was seven drops of brandy, which he forced between her teeth. His second was his heart. Enid obtained a situation, and Adrian took her to the Crystal Palace one Saturday afternoon. It was a pity that he had not already proposed to her, for[Pg 80] they got separated in the tremendous Babylonian crowd, and Enid, unused to the intricacies of locomotion48 in Babylon, arrived home at the emporium at an ungodly hour on Sunday morning. She was dismissed by a proprietor49 with a face of brass50. Adrian sought her in vain. She sought Adrian in vain—she did not know his address. Thenceforward the tale split itself into two parts: the one describing the life of Adrian, a successful barrister, on the heights of Babylon, and the other the life of Enid, reduced to desperate straits, in the depths thereof. The contrasts were vivid and terrific.
Mrs. Knight and Aunt Annie could not imagine how Henry would bring the two lovers, each burning secretly the light torch of love in Babylon, together again. But Henry did not hesitate over the problem for more than about fifty seconds. Royal Academy. Private View. Adrian present thereat as a celebrity51. Picture of the year, 'The Enchantress.' He recognises her portrait. She had, then, been forced to sell her beauty for eighteenpence an hour as an artist's model. To discover the artist and Enid's address was for Adrian the work of a few minutes.
This might have finished the tale, but Henry opined that the tale was a trifle short. As a fact, it was. He accordingly invented a further and a still more dramatic situation. When Adrian proposed to Enid, she conscientiously52 told him, told him quietly but firmly, that she could not marry him for the reason that her father, though innocent of a crime imputed53 to him, had died in worldly disgrace. She could not consent to sully Adrian's reputation. Now, Adrian happened to be the real criminal. But he did not know that Enid's father had suffered for him, and he had honestly lived down that distant past. 'If there is a man in this world who has the right to marry you,' cried Adrian, 'I am that man. And if there is a man in this world whom you have the right to spurn54, I am that man also.' The extreme subtlety55 of the thing must be obvious to every reader. Enid forgave and accepted Adrian. They were married in a snowy January at St. Paul's, Knightsbridge, and the story ended thus:
'Babylon in winter.
'Babylon!'
Henry achieved the entire work in seven days, and, having achieved it, he surveyed it with equal pride and astonishment56. It was a matter of surprise to him that the writing of interesting and wholesome57 fiction was so easy. Some parts of the book he read over and over again, for the sheer joy of reading.
'Of course it isn't good enough to print,' he said one day, while sitting up in the arm-chair.
'I should think any publisher would be glad to print it,' said his mother. 'I'm not a bit prejudiced, I'm sure, and I think it's one of the best tales I ever read in all my life.'
'Do you really?' Henry smiled, his natural modesty58 fighting against a sure conviction that his mother was right.
Aunt Annie said little, but she had copied out Love in Babylon in her fine, fair Italian hand, keeping pace day by day with Henry's extraordinary speed, and now she accomplished59 the transcription of the last pages.
The time arrived for Henry to be restored to a waiting world. He was cured, well, hearty, vigorous, radiant. But he was still infected, isolate60, one might almost say taboo61; and everything in his room, and everything that everyone had worn while in the room, was in the same condition. Therefore the solemn process, rite20, and ceremony of purification had to be performed. It began upon the last day of the old year at dusk.
Aunt Annie made a quantity of paste in a basin; Mrs. Knight bought a penny brush; and Henry cut up a copy of the Telegraph into long strips about two inches wide. The sides and sash of the window were then hermetically sealed; the register of the fireplace was closed, and sealed also. Clothes were spread out in open order, the bed stripped, rugs hung over chairs.
'Henry's book?' Mrs. Knight demanded.
'Of course it must be disinfected with the other things,' said Aunt Annie.
'Yes, of course,' Henry agreed.
'And it will be safer to lay the sheets separately on the floor,' Aunt Annie continued.
There were fifty-nine sheets of Aunt Annie's fine, finicking caligraphy, and the scribe and her nephew went down on their knees, and laid them in numerical sequence on the floor. The initiatory62 'Babylon' found itself in the corner between the window and the fireplace beneath the dressing-table, and the final 'Babylon' was hidden in gloomy retreats under the bed.
Then Sarah entered, bearing sulphur in a shallow pan, and a box of matches. The paste and the paste-brush and the remnants of the Telegraph were carried out into the passage. Henry carefully ignited the sulphur, and, captain of the ship, was the last to leave. As they closed the door the odour of burning, microbe-destroying sulphur impinged on their nostrils63. Henry sealed the door on the outside with 'London Day by Day,' 'Sales by Auction,' and a leading article or so.
'There!' said Henry.
All was over.
At intervals64 throughout the night he thought of the sanative and benign65 sulphur smouldering, smouldering always with ghostly yellow flamelets in the midst of his work of art, while the old year died and the new was born.
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1
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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2
acolyte
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| n.助手，侍僧 | |
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3
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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4
pivot
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| v.在枢轴上转动；装枢轴，枢轴；adj.枢轴的 | |
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5
soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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6
revolved
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| v.（使）旋转( revolve的过去式和过去分词 )；细想 | |
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7
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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8
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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9
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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10
measles
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| n.麻疹，风疹，包虫病，痧子 | |
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11
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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12
eucalyptus
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| n.桉树，桉属植物 | |
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13
disquieting
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| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
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14
boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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15
chafed
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| v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的过去式 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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16
fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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17
cogitated
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| v.认真思考，深思熟虑( cogitate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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18
allaying
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| v.减轻，缓和( allay的现在分词 ) | |
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19
itch
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| n.痒，渴望，疥癣；vi.发痒，渴望 | |
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20
rite
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| n.典礼，惯例，习俗 | |
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21
analyzing
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| v.分析；分析( analyze的现在分词 )；分解；解释；对…进行心理分析n.分析 | |
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22
detrimental
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| adj.损害的，造成伤害的 | |
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23
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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25
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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26
protracted
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| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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27
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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28
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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29
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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30
lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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31
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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32
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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33
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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34
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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35
fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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36
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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37
revel
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| vi.狂欢作乐，陶醉；n.作乐，狂欢 | |
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38
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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39
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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40
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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41
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42
morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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43
resounded
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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44
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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45
ebb
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| vi.衰退，减退；n.处于低潮，处于衰退状态 | |
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46
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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47
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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48
locomotion
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| n.运动，移动 | |
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49
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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50
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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51
celebrity
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| n.名人，名流；著名，名声，名望 | |
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52
conscientiously
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| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
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53
imputed
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| v.把（错误等）归咎于( impute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54
spurn
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| v.拒绝，摈弃；n.轻视的拒绝；踢开 | |
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55
subtlety
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| n.微妙，敏锐，精巧；微妙之处，细微的区别 | |
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56
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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57
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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58
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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59
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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60
isolate
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| vt.使孤立，隔离 | |
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61
taboo
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| n.禁忌，禁止接近，禁止使用；adj.禁忌的；v.禁忌，禁制，禁止 | |
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62
initiatory
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| adj.开始的；创始的；入会的；入社的 | |
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63
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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64
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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65
benign
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| adj.善良的，慈祥的；良性的，无危险的 | |
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