The golden days began to be tarnished1 with rain; but the air remained mild, and life at the bungalow2 followed its quiet course. Vance, plunged3 in his imaginary world, hardly noticed that in the real one the hours of daylight were rapidly shortening, and that in the mornings there was a white hoarfrost in the orchard4.
Laura Lou seemed to have recovered; but she was still easily tired, and the woman who came for the washing had still to be summoned almost daily to help with the housework. Then the weather turned cold, and the coal bill went up with a rush. The bungalow was not meant for winter, and Vance had to buy a couple of stoves and have the stovepipes pushed up through the roof. But in spite of these cares he was still hardly conscious of the lapse5 of time, and might have drifted on unaware6 to the end of the year if the old familiar money problem had not faced him. What with the coal and the stoves and the hired woman, and buying more blankets and some warm clothes, the monthly expenses had already doubled; what would it be when winter set in? Still, they had the derelict place for a song, and it would perhaps cost less to stay on there than to move.
About a month after his grandmother’s departure from New York a letter came from her. She reported the success of her lecture tour, and was loud in praise of “Storecraft’s” management. She spoke7 enthusiastically of the way in which the publicity8 was organized, and said it was bringing many souls to Jesus; and she reminded Vance affectionately of her offer to provide him and Laura Lou with a home. She would be ready to do so, she said, as soon as she paid off her debt to Mr. Weston; and that would be before long, judging from her present success. To justify9 her optimism she enclosed one of the advance circulars with which “Storecraft” was flooding the country, together with laudatory10 articles from local papers and a paean11 from her own special organ, Spirit Life, (which was now serializing her religious experiences). She said ingenuously12 that she guessed she had a right to be proud of such results, and added that anyhow they would show Vance there were plenty of cultured centres in the United States where the spiritual temperature was higher than in the Arctic circles of Park Avenue.
The letter touched Vance. It came at a moment when the problem of the winter was upon him, and he might have yielded to Mrs. Scrimser’s suggestion — if only she had not enclosed the newspaper articles. But there they were, in all their undisguised blatancy13, and her pride in them showed her to have been completely unaffected by her grandson’s arguments and entreaties14, or at any rate blind to their meaning. And after all, that very blindness exonerated15 her. If she really believed herself a heaven-sent teacher, why should she not live on what she taught? Where there was no fraud there was no dishonour16. She was only giving these people what they wanted, and what she sincerely believed they ought to have.
Yes, but it was all based on the intellectual laziness that he abhorred17. It was because she was content with a shortcut18 to popularity, and her hearers with words that sounded well and put no strain on their attention, that, as one paper said, she could fill three-thousand-seat auditoriums19 all the way from Maine to California. The system was detestable, the results were pitiable. . . . But his grandmother had to have the money, and her audiences had to have the particular blend of homemade religiosity that she knew how to brew21. “Another form of bootlegging,” Vance growled22, and pitched the newspapers to the floor. The fraud was there, it was only farther back, in the national tolerance23 of ignorance, the sentimental24 plausibility25, the rush for immediate26 results, the get-rich-quick system applied27 to the spiritual life. . . . The being he loved with all the tenacity28 of childish affection was exactly on a level with her dupes.
He did not answer the letter, and his grandmother did not write again.
Vance thought he had thrown all the “Storecraft” documents into the stove; but one day he came back and found Laura Lou with one of the advance circulars smoothed out before her on the kitchen table. She looked up with a smile.
“Oh, Vanny, why didn’t you show me this before? Did your grandmother send it to you?”
He shrugged29 his acquiescence30, and she sat gazing at the circular. “I guess it was Bunty who wrote it himself — don’t you believe so?”
Vance’s work had not gone well that day, and he gave an irritated laugh. “Shouldn’t wonder. But you probably know his style better than I do.”
The too-quick blood rushed to her cheeks, and ebbed31 again with the last word of his taunt32. She looked at him perplexedly. “You don’t like it, then — you don’t think it makes enough of your grandmother?”
“Lord, yes! It makes too much — that’s the trouble.” He picked the leaflet up and read it slowly over, trying, out of idle curiosity, to see it from Laura Lou’s point of view, which doubtless was exactly that of his grandmother. But every word nauseated33 him, and his sense of irony34 was blunted by the fact that the grotesque35 phrases were applied to a being whom he loved and admired. He threw the paper down contemptuously. “I suppose I could make a good living myself writing that kind of thing . . . .”
Laura Lou’s face lit up responsively. “I’m sure you could, Vanny. I’ve always thought so. Bunty told me once that a good publicity writer could earn every bit as much as a best seller.”
He laughed. “Pity I didn’t choose that line, isn’t it? Since I don’t look much like being a best seller, anyhow.”
She scented36 the sarcasm37 and drew back into herself, as her way was when he stung her with something unanswerable. Vance picked up the paper, tore it in bits, and walked away majestically38 to his desk. These women —! . . . Of course his work had been going badly of late — how could it be otherwise, with the endless interruptions and worries he was subjected to? A man who wanted to write ought to be free and unencumbered, or else in possession of an independent income and of a wife who could keep house without his perpetual intervention39. Other fellows he knew . . . The thought of the other fellows woke a sudden craving40 in him, that craving for change, talk, variety, a general freshening-up of the point of view, which seizes upon the creative artist after a long unbroken stretch of work. He wanted the Cocoanut Tree again, and the “Loafers’,” and a good talk with Frenside. . . . He wanted above all to get away from Laura Lou and the bungalow . . . .
“See here — I’ve got an appointment in town. I guess if I sprint41 for the elevated I can make it before one o’clock,” he announced abruptly42; and before she could question or protest he had got into his hat and overcoat, and was hurrying down the lane to the turnpike.
It was weeks since he had been to New York, and then he had stayed only long enough to persuade Dreck and Saltzer to give him a small advance on his royalties43. Today, as the huge roar of the streets enveloped44 him, he felt his heart beating in time with it. He hadn’t known how much he had missed the bracing45 air of the multitude. He avoided the New Hour, but turned in for lunch at the Cocoanut Tree, where it was bewildering and stimulating46, after those endless weeks of country solitude47 and laborious48 routine, to find the old idlers and workers, the old jokes, the old wrangles49, the old welcome again. Eric Rauch met him amicably50, and seemed glad to hear that the novel was growing so fast. “Queer, though, if you were to get away the Pulsifer Novel Prize from the boss,” he chuckled51 in Vance’s ear. Vance stared, and had to be told, in deepest confidence, that Tarrant was also at work on a novel — his first — and that the few intimates who had seen it predicted that it would pull off the Pulsifer Prize, though perhaps not altogether on its merits.
“Luckily, though,” Rauch ended, “it’s a First Novel Prize, and that rules you out, because of Instead.” He seemed to derive52 intense amusement from the narrowly averted53 drama of a conflict between the editor of the New Hour and its most noted54 contributor.
When Vance left the Cocoanut Tree, rather later than he had meant to, he went to Frenside’s lodgings55, but found a card with “Away” above the latter’s name in the vestibule. Then he recalled the real object of his trip: he must try to get another two or three hundred out of Dreck and Saltzer. His reluctance56 to ask for a second advance was manifest, and theirs to accord it no less so. The cashier reminded him affably that it wasn’t so very long since his last application. That sort of thing was contrary to their rules; but if he’d look in after the first of the year, possibly Mr. Dreck would see what he could do. . . . Vance turned away, and walking back to Fifth Avenue stood for a while watching the stream of traffic pour by — the turbid57 flood which had never ceased to press its way through those perpetually congested arteries58 since he had first stood gazing at it, hungry and light-headed, or the later day when, desperate with anxiety for Laura Lou and the need for money, he had breasted the tide to make his way to Mrs. Pulsifer’s and beg for a loan.
He stood there idly on the curbstone, smiling at his past illusions and at the similarity of his present plight59. He was as poor as ever, with the same wants to meet, the same burden to bear, and none of his illusions left. Nothing had changed in his life except his easy faith in the generosity60 of his fellows. There was his grandmother, indeed, whose generosity was no illusion — at a word she would shoulder all his difficulties. But that word he could not speak. And in all the rest of the world he knew of no one ready to take on the burden of an unsuccessful novelist . . . .
He wandered up Fifth Avenue, letting the noise and the tumult61 drug him to insensibility. The cold brief daylight had vanished in a blaze of nocturnal illumination. Vance crossed over to Broadway and tramped on aimlessly till a call flamed out at him from among all the other flaming calls. Beethoven — The Fifth Symphony . . . He had heard it for the first and only time with Halo Tarrant, the previous winter. . . . Well, he was going to hear it again, to hear it by himself that very evening. He turned in at the concert hall, secured the last seat in the highest gallery, and wandered away again to pick up a sandwich and a cup of coffee before the concert began. The night was cold, and the hot coffee set all his veins62 singing. Music and heat and love . . . they were what a fellow needed who was young and hungry and a poet . . . .
From his corner of the upper heaven he could lean over and catch sight of the orchestra stalls where he and Halo had sat on that divine night. He remembered, vaguely63, her having said something about their being subscription64 seats — about her husband’s always having them for the Beethoven cycle — and his heart began to beat at the thought that she might actually be sitting there, far below him, that he might presently discover her small dark head and white shoulders standing65 out from the indifferent throng66. But he had come early; nearly all the orchestra seats were still empty, and it was impossible to identify the two they had occupied. With a painful fixity he sat watching as the great auditorium20 gradually filled up. He had forgotten all about the music in his agonized67 longing68 to see Mrs. Tarrant again. He did not mean to try to speak to her — what was the use? — but to see her would be a bitter ecstasy69; and he was in pursuit of all the ecstasies70 that night . . . .
And then, abruptly, the music began. Unperceived by him the orchestra had noiselessly filed in, filling the stage tier by tier; the conductor’s gesture broken the hush71, and in the deep region of the soul the echo of the fateful chords awoke.
Vance listened in the confused rapture72 of those to whom the world of tone is an inexplicable73 heaven. When Halo Tarrant had first introduced him to it he had resented his inability to analyse this new emotion. It seemed as though great poetry, the science of Number, should be the clue of the mathematically definite laws underlying74 this kindred art; and when he found it was not so, that the ear most acutely taunted75 to verbal harmonies may be dull in the dissection76 of pure sound, he felt baffled and humbled77. But gradually he came to see that for the creative artist two such fields of emotion could hardly overlap78 without confusion. He needed all his acuteness and precision of sensibility for his own task; it was better that his particular domain79 should lie surrounded by the great golden haze80 of the other arts, like a tiny cultivated island in the vagueness of a sunset ocean. . . . A sunset ocean: that was it! The inarticulate depths in him woke to this surge of sound as they did to the surge of the waves, or to that murmur81 of the blood which the lips of lovers send back to their satisfied hearts. . . . And that was enough.
When the first interval82 came he sat for a while with his eyes covered, as though the accumulated impress must escape if he opened them. Then he roused himself, and look down at the stalls. They were filling fast; he was able to distinguish definitely the two seats which he and Mrs. Tarrant had occupied. They were empty, and that seemed to establish their identity, and to put a seal on the memory of that other evening. But now he did not greatly care if she came or not — she was his in the plenitude of the music. He shut his eyes again and the multitudinous seas poured over him . . . .
收听单词发音 |
1
tarnished
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| （通常指金属）（使）失去光泽，（使）变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 )； 玷污，败坏 | |
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bungalow
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| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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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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publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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laudatory
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| adj.赞扬的 | |
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paean
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| n.赞美歌，欢乐歌 | |
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ingenuously
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| adv.率直地，正直地 | |
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blatancy
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| 喧哗 | |
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entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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exonerated
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| v.使免罪，免除( exonerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dishonour
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| n./vt.拒付（支票、汇票、票据等）；vt.凌辱，使丢脸；n.不名誉，耻辱，不光彩 | |
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abhorred
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| v.憎恶( abhor的过去式和过去分词 )；（厌恶地）回避；拒绝；淘汰 | |
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shortcut
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| n.近路，捷径 | |
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auditoriums
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| n.观众席( auditorium的名词复数 )；听众席；礼堂；会堂 | |
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auditorium
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| n.观众席，听众席；会堂，礼堂 | |
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brew
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| v.酿造，调制 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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tolerance
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| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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plausibility
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| n. 似有道理, 能言善辩 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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tenacity
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| n.坚韧 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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acquiescence
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| n.默许；顺从 | |
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ebbed
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| （指潮水）退( ebb的过去式和过去分词 )； 落； 减少； 衰落 | |
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taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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nauseated
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| adj.作呕的，厌恶的v.使恶心，作呕( nauseate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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intervention
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| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
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craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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sprint
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| n.短距离赛跑；vi. 奋力而跑，冲刺；vt.全速跑过 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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royalties
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| 特许权使用费 | |
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enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bracing
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| adj.令人振奋的 | |
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stimulating
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| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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49
wrangles
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| n.（尤指长时间的）激烈争吵，口角，吵嘴( wrangle的名词复数 )v.争吵，争论，口角( wrangle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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50
amicably
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| adv.友善地 | |
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51
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
derive
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| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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53
averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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54
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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55
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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56
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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57
turbid
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| adj.混浊的，泥水的，浓的 | |
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58
arteries
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| n.动脉( artery的名词复数 )；干线，要道 | |
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59
plight
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| n.困境，境况，誓约，艰难；vt.宣誓，保证，约定 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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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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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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subscription
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| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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agonized
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| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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ecstasies
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| 狂喜( ecstasy的名词复数 )； 出神； 入迷； 迷幻药 | |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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underlying
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| adj.在下面的，含蓄的，潜在的 | |
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taunted
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| 嘲讽( taunt的过去式和过去分词 )； 嘲弄； 辱骂； 奚落 | |
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dissection
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| n.分析；解剖 | |
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77
humbled
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| adj. 卑下的，谦逊的，粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下，贬低 | |
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78
overlap
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| v.重叠，与…交叠；n.重叠 | |
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79
domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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80
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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81
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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82
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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