毛姆 月亮与六便士 英文版 36～40章chapter36～40

Chapter XXXVI

The next week was dreadful. Stroeve went twice a day to the hospital to enquire after his wife,

who still declined to see him; and came away at first relieved and hopeful because he was told

that she seemed to be growing better, and then in despair because, the complication which

the doctor had feared having ensued, recovery was impossible. The nurse was pitiful to his

distress, but she had little to say that could console him. The poor woman lay quite still,

refusing to speak, with her eyes intent, as though she watched for the coming of death. It

could now be only the question of a day or two; and when, late one evening, Stroeve came to

see me I knew it was to tell me she was dead. He was absolutely exhausted. His volubility had

left him at last, and he sank down wearily on my sofa. I felt that no words of condolence

availed, and I let him lie there quietly. I feared he would think it heartless if I read, so I sat

by the window, smoking a pipe, till he felt inclined to speak.

"You've been very kind to me," he said at last. "Everyone's been very kind."

"Nonsense," I said, a little embarrassed.

"At the hospital they told me I might wait. They gave me a chair, and I sat outside the door.

When she became unconscious they said I might go in. Her mouth and chin were all burnt by

the acid. It was awful to see her lovely skin all wounded. She died very peacefully, so that I

didn't know she was dead till the sister told me."

He was too tired to weep. He lay on his back limply, as though all the strength had gone out

of his limbs, and presently I saw that he had fallen asleep. It was the first natural sleep he had

had for a week. Nature, sometimes so cruel, is sometimes merciful. I covered him and turned

down the light. In the morning when I awoke he was still asleep. He had not moved. His

gold-rimmed spectacles were still on his nose.

Literature Network » William Somerset Maugham » Moon and Sixpence » Chapter XXXVI

Chapter XXXVII

The circumstances of Blanche Stroeve's death necessitated all manner of dreadful formalities,

but at last we were allowed to bury her. Dirk and I alone followed the hearse to the cemetery.

We went at a foot-pace, but on the way back we trotted, and there was something to my mind

singularly horrible in the way the driver of the hearse whipped up his horses. It seemed to

dismiss the dead with a shrug of the shoulders. Now and then I caught sight of the swaying

hearse in front of us, and our own driver urged his pair so that we might not remain behind.

I felt in myself, too, the desire to get the whole thing out of my mind. I was beginning to be

bored with a tragedy that did not really concern me, and pretending to myself that I spoke in

order to distract Stroeve, I turned with relief to other subjects.

"Don't you think you'd better go away for a bit?" I said. "There can be no object in your

staying in Paris now."

He did not answer, but I went on ruthlessly:

"Have you made any plans for the immediate future?"

"No."

"You must try and gather together the threads again. Why don't you go down to Italy and

start working?"

Again he made no reply, but the driver of our carriage came to my rescue. Slackening his

pace for a moment, he leaned over and spoke. I could not hear what he said, so I put my head

out of the window. he wanted to know where we wished to be set down. I told him to wait a

minute.

"You'd better come and have lunch with me," I said to Dirk. "I'll tell him to drop us in the Place

Pigalle."

"I'd rather not. I want to go to the studio."

I hesitated a moment.

"Would you like me to come with you?" I asked then.

"No; I should prefer to be alone."

"All right."

I gave the driver the necessary direction, and in renewed silence we drove on. Dirk had not

been to the studio since the wretched morning on which they had taken Blanche to the

hospital. I was glad he did not want me to accompany him, and when I left him at the door I

walked away with relief. I took a new pleasure in the streets of Paris, and I looked with

smiling eyes at the people who hurried to and fro. The day was fine and sunny, and I felt in

myself a more acute delight in life. I could not help it; I put Stroeve and his sorrows out of my

mind. I wanted to enjoy.

Literature Network » William Somerset Maugham » Moon and Sixpence » Chapter XXXVII