第12章 一个小时的故事 (1)

　　The Story of an Hour

　　《一个小时的故事》精炼地概述了在一个小时里，

　　玛拉德夫人对一偶发事件的反应。故事的主人公玛拉

　　德夫人患有心脏病，当她听到丈夫在一场车祸中丧生

　　之后，先是痛不欲生，失声痛哭，但独自回到房间后，

　　她竟很快从悲痛中恢复了过来，有了“自由”的喜悦。

　　等她再从房间里走出来的时候，她感受到了新生。但

　　此时，逃过一劫的玛拉德先生出现在门口，玛拉德夫

　　人心脏病突发，倒地猝死。

　　[ 美] 凯特·肖邦（Kate Chopin）

　　一个小时的故事

　　Knowing that Mrs.Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble，

　　great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the

　　news of her husband’s death.

　　It was her sister Josephine who told her，in broken

　　sentences ；veiled hints that revealed in half concealing.

　　Her husband’s friend Richards was there，too，near her. It

　　was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence

　　of the railroad disaster was received ；with Brently Maitard’s

　　name leading the list of“ killed”. He had only taken the time

　　to assure himself of its truth by a second telegram，and had

　　hastened to forestall any less careful，less tender friend in bearing

　　the sad message.

　　She did not hear the story as many women have heard the

　　same，with a paralyzed inability to accept its significance. She

　　wept at once，with sudden，wild abandonment，in her sister’s

　　arms. When the storm of grief had spent itself she went away to

　　her room alone. She would have no one follow her.

　　There stood，facing the open window，a comfortable，roomy

　　armchair. Into this she sank，pressed down by a physical exhaustion

　　that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul.

　　She could see in the open square before her house the

　　tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The

　　delicious breath of rain was in the air.

　　In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The

　　notes of a distant song which someone was singing reached her

　　faintly，and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves.

　　There were patches of blue sky showing here and there

　　through the clouds that had met and piled one above the other in

　　the west facing her window.

　　She sat with her head thrown back upon the cushion of

　　the chair，quite motionless，except when a sob came up into

　　her throat and shook her，as a child who has cried itself to sleep

　　continues to sob in its dreams.

　　She was young，with a fair，calm face，whose lines bespoke

　　repression and even a certain strength. But now there was a dull

　　stare in her eyes，whose gaze was fixed away off yonder on one

　　of those patches of blue sky. It was not a glance of reflection，but

　　rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought.

　　There was something coming to her and she was waiting

　　for it，fearfully. What was it? She did not know ；it was too subtle

　　and elusive to name. But she felt it，creeping out of the sky，reaching

　　toward her through the sounds，the scents，the color that filled

　　the air.

　　Now her bosom rose and fell tumultuously. She was

　　beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess

　　her，and she was striving to beat it back with her will— as

　　powerless as her two white slender hands would have been.

　　When she abandoned herself，a little whispered word

　　escaped her slightly parted lips. She said it over and over under

　　her breath:“ free，free，free!”The vacant stare and the look of

　　terror that had followed it went from her eyes. They stayed keen

　　and bright. Her pulses beat fast，and the coursing blood warmed

　　and relaxed every inch of her body.

　　She did not stop to ask if it were or were not a monstrous

　　Joy that held her. A clear and exalted perception enabled her to

　　dismiss the suggestion as trivial.

　　She knew that she would weep again when she saw the

　　kind，tender hands folded in death ；the face that had never

　　looked save with love upon her，fixed and gray and dead. But she

　　saw beyond that bitter moment a long procession of years to

　　come that would belong to her absolutely. And she opened and

　　spread her arms out to them in welcome.

　　There would be no one to live for her during those coming

　　years ；she would live for herself. There would be no powerful

　　will bending hers in that blind persistence with which men and

　　women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a

　　fellow creature. A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act

　　seem no less a crime as she looked upon it in that brief moment

　　of illumination.

　　And yet she had loved him — sometimes. Often she had not.

　　What did it matter! What could love，the unsolved mystery，