Джон Фаулз – The French Lieutenant's Woman / Любовница французского лейтенанта (страница 3)

In her room that afternoon she unbuttoned her dress and stood before her mirror in her chemise and petticoats. For a few moments she became lost in a highly narcissistic selfcontemplation. Her neck and shoulders did her face justice; she was really very pretty, one of the prettiest girls she knew. And as if to prove it she raised her arms and unloosed her hair, a thing she knew to be sinful. She imagined herself for a moment as someone wicked – a dancer, an actress. And then, if you had been watching, you would have seen something very curious. For she suddenly stopped turning and admiring herself in profile; gave an abrupt look up at the ceiling. Her lips moved. And she hastily opened one of the wardrobes and drew on a peignoir.

For what had crossed her mind was a sexual thought. It was not only her profound ignorance of the reality of copulation that frightened her; it was the aura of pain and brutality that the act seemed to require. She had once or twice seen animals couple; the violence haunted her mind. She tried not to think about those things but she wanted a husband, wanted Charles to be that husband, wanted children; but the payment she would have to make for them seemed excessive.

Ernestina went to her dressing table, unlocked a drawer and there pulled out her diary. From another drawer she took a hidden key and unlocked the book. She turned immediately to the back page. There she had written out, on the day of her betrothal to Charles, the dates of all the months and days that lay between it and her marriage. Some ninety numbers remained till March 26th. Then she turned to the front of the book: some fifteen pages of close handwriting[33] in, there came a blank, upon which she had pressed a sprig of jasmine. She stared at it a moment, then bent to smell it. Her loosened hair fell over the page, and she closed her eyes to see if once again she could imagine the day she had thought she would die of joy…

But she heard Aunt Tranter's feet on the stairs, hastily put the book away, and began to comb her brown hair.

6

Mrs. Poulteney's face, that afternoon when the vicar returned and made the announcement, expressed ignorance. “I do not know her.”

“I did not suppose you would. She is a Charmouth[34] girl.”

“A girl?”

“That is, I am not quite sure of her age, a woman, a lady of some thirty years of age. Perhaps more.” The vicar felt that he was making a poor start. “But a most distressing case. Most deserving of your charity.”

“Has she an education?”

“Yes indeed. She was trained to be a governess. She was a governess.”

“And what is she now?”

“I believe she is without employment.”

“Why?”

“That is a long story.”

“I should certainly wish to hear it before taking her in.”

So the vicar sat down again, and told her what he knew of Sarah Woodruff.

“ The girl's father was a farmer merely, but a man of excellent principles and highly respected in the neighborhood. He most wisely gave the girl a good education.”

“He is dead?”

“Some several years ago. The girl became a governess to Captain John Talbot's family at Charmouth.”

“Will he give a letter of reference[35]?”

“My dear Mrs. Poulteney, we are discussing, if I understood our earlier conversation right, an object of charity, not an object of employment. No doubt such a letter can be obtained. She left his home at her own request[36]. What happened was this. You will recall the French ship that was driven ashore[37] under Stonebarrow last December? And you will no doubt recall that three of the crew were saved and were taken in by the people of Charmouth? Two were simple sailors. One, I understand, was the lieutenant of the vessel. His leg had been crushed, but he clung to a spar[38] and was washed ashore. You must surely have read of this.”

“Very probably. I do not like the French.”

“Captain Talbot, as a naval officer himself, most kindly offered hospitality to the foreign officer. He spoke no English. And Miss Woodruff was called upon to interpret and look after his needs.”

“She speaks French?” Mrs. Poulteney's alarm at this awful news was nearly enough to sink the vicar. But he smiled.

“My dear madam, so do most governesses. It is not their fault if the world requires such quality of them. But to return to the French gentleman. I regret to say that he did not deserve that name.”

“Mr. Forsythe!”

“I want to add that no misconduct took place at Captain Talbot's. Or so far as Miss Woodruff is concerned, at any place or time. But the Frenchman managed to gain Miss Woodruff's affections[39]. When his leg was mended he took coach to Weymouth, there to find a home passage[40]. Two days after he had gone Miss Woodruff asked Mrs. Talbot to allow her to leave her post. I am told that Mrs. Talbot tried to learn the woman's reasons. But without success.”

“And she let her leave without notice[41]?”

The vicar took his chance. “I agree – it was most foolish. But I will make my story short. Miss Woodruff joined the Frenchman in Weymouth. Her conduct should be criticized, but I am informed that she stayed with a female cousin.”

“That does not excuse her in my eyes.”

“Certainly not. But you must remember that she is not a lady born. The lower classes are not so accurate as ourselves. Furthermore I have forgotten to tell you that Miss Woodruff went to Weymouth because the Frenchman had promised to marry.”

“But was he not a Catholic?”

“I am afraid his conduct shows he was without any Christian faith. After some days he returned to France, promising Miss Woodruff that as soon as he had seen his family and got a new ship he would come back to Lyme, marry her, and take her away with him. Since then she has waited. It is quite clear that the man was a heartless deceiver.”

“And what has happened to her since? Surely Mrs. Talbot did not take her back?”

“Madam, Mrs. Talbot is an eccentric lady. She offered to do so. But I now come to the sad consequences of my story. Miss Woodruff is not insane. Far from it. She is perfectly able to perform any duties that may be given to her. But she suffers from grave attacks of melancholia. But also, she has a fixed idea that the lieutenant is an honorable man and will one day return to her. For that reason she may be frequently seen on the pier. I would say, madam, she is slightly crazed[42].”

There was a silence then. The vicar hoped for chance. He felt that Mrs. Poulteney was calculating. Her opinion of herself required her to appear shocked and alarmed at the idea of allowing such a creature into Marlborough House. But there was God to be accounted to[43].

“She has relatives?”

“I understand not.”

“How has she supported herself since…?”

“I understand she has been doing a little needlework. But she has been living principally on her savings from her previous situation.”

“She has saved, then.”

The vicar breathed again.

“If you take her in, madam, I think she will be truly saved.” He played his trump card[44].

And a week later Mrs. Talbot mailed a letter of reference, which did more harm than good, since it didn't condemn sufficiently the governess's conduct. One phrase in particular angered Mrs. Poulteney. “Monsieur Varguennes was a person of considerable charm, and Captain Talbot wishes me to state that a sailor's life is not the best school of morals.” Nor did it interest her that Miss Sarah was a “skilled and dutiful teacher” or that “My infants have deeply missed her.” But Mrs. Talbot's tolerance and sentimentality finally helped Sarah with Mrs. Poulteney; they set her a challenge[45].

So Sarah came for an interview, accompanied by the vicar. She pleased Mrs. Poulteney from the start, by seeming so cast down by circumstance. It was true that she looked what she indeed was – near twenty-five. But only her sorrow showed she was a sinner, and Mrs. Poulteney wanted her look more clearly to be in that category.

Then, at the vicar's suggestion, she dictated a letter. The handwriting was excellent, the spelling perfect. She passed Sarah her Bible and made her read. Sarah's voice was firm, rather deep. It had traces of a rural accent, but in those days a genteel accent was not the great social requisite it later became. Perhaps it was by contrast with Mrs. Fairley's stumbling that the voice first satisfied and then charmed Mrs. Poulteney. There remained a brief interrogation.

“Mr. Forsythe informs me that you are attached to the foreign person.”

“I do not wish to speak of it, ma'm.”

If any maid had dared to say such a thing to Mrs. Poulteney, the Dies Irae[46] would have followed. But this was spoken openly, without fear, yet respectfully.

“I will not have French books in my house.”

“I have none. Nor English, ma'm.”

“You have surely a Bible?”

The girl shook her head. The vicar intervened. “I will attend to that, my dear Mrs. Poulteney.”

“I am told you constantly attend divine service.”

“Yes, ma'm.”

“Let it remain so. God consoles us in all adversity[47].”

“I try to share your belief, ma'm.”

Mrs. Poulteney put her most difficult question, one the vicar had in fact asked her not to make.

“What if this, person returns; what then?”

But again Sarah did the best possible thing: she said nothing, and simply bowed her head and shook it. In her favorable mood Mrs. Poulteney entered upon her good deed[48].