Chapter 25 Chapter Twenty-Four

Bertha's imagination keeps her close to the truth, always hovering in the flickering lights, sometimes they are submerged in the splendor of ideals, but sometimes they are just the opposite.It was a wonder that such a brief separation should destroy years of habit.But it was clear that Edward had become a stranger, and she would not share a room with him.The way she looked at Edward now was full of prejudice, and she told herself that at last she saw Edward for who he really was.Poor Edward had paid dearly, for the slipping years had taken away his youthful appearance, and in return had only given him excess fat.His cheeks were bulging and drooping because of responsibility, a comfortable life, and superior conditions.

Indeed, Bertha's love disappeared as suddenly as it appeared.She began to loathe her husband.She had a little of Miss Ley's analytical powers, which she now applied to Edward's character, with devastating effect.Her departure increased the stakes in Edward's marital crisis, for the atmosphere of Paris lifted her spirits and sharpened her wits.She bought a lot of books, went to the theater, read a lot of French newspapers, whose spark of thought at first only provided an amusing contrast to the seriousness and dullness of her British counterparts.But the net result was that her vigilance for detecting flaws was doubled, and her aversion to stupidity and tedium was magnified to the limit.

Bertha soon discovered that her husband's spiritual world was not only mediocre, but vulgar.His ignorance was no longer attractive, but shameful; his prejudices were no longer amusing, but contemptible.She was furious at the thought that she had bowed before a man of such narrow minds and so low a character.She couldn't even imagine how she could have loved him so passionately back then.He was bound to the stupidest routine in the world, and it annoyed her every day to see him going in and out of the bathroom with regularity, and nothing would disturb the order in which he rinsed his mouth and combed his hair.She also hated his self-righteous and arrogant look.Edward's taste in books, paintings, and music was vulgar, and his affective comments made her even more contemptuous.At first his flaws didn't bother her, until she comforted herself with the cliché that a man may know nothing about art and yet have all the virtues in the world.But she is less forgiving now.Bertha wondered that, since her husband could read and write at the level of most schoolchildren, he considered himself qualified to judge books--without even reading them.Of course, it wouldn't make sense to blame him for a little ailment that most people have.Everyone who can hold a pen is confident that he has the ability to criticize, and he criticizes arrogantly.It never occurred to the common citizen—to put it modestly—that it takes as much skill to write a book as to adulterate a pound of tea.They also don't realize that writers are always busy with writing techniques: style and contrast, characterization, plot twists, and many other things.To get these, experience in the grocer, greengrocer, company promotion, or slaughterhouse is not the right key.

One day Edward walks in and catches a glimpse of Bertha reading a French book in a yellow cover. "Oh, reading again? You read too much. It's not good to read all the time." "Is this your point of view?" "My point is that a woman shouldn't be absorbed in a book. You'd better get out and get some fresh air, or do something good." "Is this your point of view?" "Well, I wonder why you keep reading." "Sometimes to be guided, sometimes to be entertained." "You can get a lot of guidance from a bawdy French novel!"

Bertha made no reply, but handed him the book, pointing out the title--The Letters of Madame Sevigny. "So?" he asked. She smiled jokingly: "Dear Edward, you are not smarter than others, are you?" Such a question, such a tone, gave her a sense of revenge. "I'm afraid you're too ignorant. You see, I'm not reading a novel, and it's not bad. It's a collection of letters from a mother to her daughter, a fine example of letter writing and feminine wisdom." Bertha spoke politely. "Oh." Edward looked puzzled, feeling embarrassed, but still convinced that he was on the right side.Bertha smiled defiantly.

"Of course, as long as you find it interesting, I have no objection to your reading." "It's hard for you to say that." "I don't pretend to be learned. I'm a practical guy who doesn't need a lot of culture. Among my peers, you will find that people who read are always good for nothing." "It seems you think ignorance is commendable." "Bertha, it is better to have a kind and pure heart than to be rich in knowledge." "A little wisdom is better than a didactic collection of maxims." "I don't know what you mean, but I'm happy with who I am, and I don't want to know any foreign languages. English is perfectly adequate."

"As long as you're a good athlete and shower regularly, you consider yourself to be performing all the duties of a human being." "You can say what you like, but if anyone is too much for me, it's a poor bookworm." "I prefer that kind of guy to a guy who likes to play cricket and take a Turkish bath." "You mean me?" "If you want, I don't object to you taking the right seat, but it can also be understood as referring to a type of person. I'm going to continue studying, don't you mind?" Bertha took up the book, but Edward wanted to continue the argument because he felt he had not gained the upper hand.

He retorted: "Okay, but I must say, if you want to read, why can't you read English books? There must be enough English books for you to read. I think the British should be loyal to their country. I don't Will pretend to read something French, but I've never heard anyone deny that most French books are bawdy, and that's not the kind of book a woman should read." Bertha said without raising her eyelids: "It is always unfair to judge by general hearsay." "And France is always treating us badly now, and I'd like to see every French book in Great Britain burned. I'm sure it's a great thing for us Brits. What we need now is Purification and reconstruction of national life. I stand for British morals, British families, British mothers and British customs."

"I've always wondered, my dear, that while you're used to reading The Standard, you talk like The Daily Telegraph." Bertha went on reading her book and ignored Edward, so he had to start talking to the dog.Like many flirtatious people, he found silence embarrassing.Bertha thought: this time even he himself has discovered the gap in his mind, and he must be panic-stricken.He talked to all moving objects, to servants, to his pets, and to cats and birds; even while reading a newspaper he could not cease to comment, and only at mealtimes did he hold his tongue for a while.Sometimes Bertha was so irritated by his endless chatter that she had to beg him, for God's sake, to keep his mouth shut.At this time, he raised his head and smiled kindly.

"Did I bother you? Sorry, I don't know." He was quiet for ten minutes, and then immediately began humming an old worn-out song, and there is no more annoying habit than this. Indeed, the couple's disagreements abound.Edward is outspoken and opinionated, and he doesn't like things that are beyond his somewhat narrow understanding, and tends to think that it is immoral; Bertha plays the piano very well, and the voice is also good, But her performance always drew her husband's disapproval, because no matter what she sang, no matter what she played, it was impossible to make people totally intoxicated by it.He had denounced her for being one of a kind, and he couldn't help but think that if a woman turned her nose up at a ditty played by a crowd in a concert hall, there must be something wrong with her.It must be admitted that Bertha's conduct was a little exaggerated.Every time there was an afternoon concert in the neighborhood, she would play Wagner's long recitative in a mischievous way, leaving everyone bewildered.

At such times the Glover brothers and Miss Big Hancock turned to Edward and admired his wife's virtuosity.Edward was annoyed, because everyone applauded enthusiastically, but the music meant nothing to him. He said: "Well, I'm a common man, and I'm not afraid to admit that I've never been able to understand what Bertha played." Miss Hancock asked: "Oh, Mr. Craddock, you don't understand Wagner's?" Those that you can't understand, so you must never admit that you are bored. Bertha looked at him, and thought of her old dreams of sitting together at the piano in the evening, and playing like this; and it was so: he was always close to his easy chair, and soon fell asleep state. Edward looked around for a voice to agree with: "I have the same opinion about music as Dr. Johnson." Bertha muttered in a low voice, "Is Saul even counted among the prophets?" "When I hear something incomprehensible, I wish it wasn't there." "My dear, you forget that Dr. Johnson is a rough old man, and my dear Fanny will not allow him to stay more than a minute in her drawing room." Miss Glover said: "Edward, come and sing, I haven't heard your singing for a long time." He replied: "Oh, thank you. Everything I sing is outdated. My songs are all one type, one emotion, and only suitable for singing in the kitchen." Miss Hancock said: "Oh, sing us 'Ben Poulter'! We love it so much." The songs that Edward can sing are limited, and everyone can recite the titles. "Well, it's hard to turn back the hospitality." In fact, he loves singing very much, and always feels that his singing voice sounds so pleasant to the ear. Bertha said, "My dear, may I accompany you?" Oh!Do you remember lovely Alice, Ben Poulter? Do you remember that lovely Alice had golden hair? Tears of joy fill her eyes when you smile at her. When you frowned, her whole body trembled with worry. Once upon a time, in these pleasant feelings, in these earthy melodies, Bertha perceived a charm which adorned them.But it wasn't surprising that the constant repetition only bored her.Edward's style in these ditties is uniformly simple - which is to say that he has no style at all - and he injects too much sadness.But Bertha was not forgiving.He criticized her playing for no reason, and she wanted revenge.She came up with an idea to vary the accompaniment with a few vibratos and grace notes.The idea delighted her, but baffled her husband.In the closing part, his voice is full of affection for the dead silver-haired headmaster, and when it gradually transitions to a smooth transition, she mixes the tunes of "Bluebells of Scotland" and "God Save the Queen", so that Edward can't continue singing.For the first time, his even-tempered nature was offended. "I said, if you make fun of me, I won't sing." Bertha smiled and said, "I'm sorry I lost my mind just now. Let's start over." "No, I won't sing any more. You screwed up the whole thing." Miss Hancock said: "Mrs. Craddock was innocent." Edward said: "I don't think it's polite to make fun of such an old song. After all, everyone makes fun of people. In my opinion, music is something that can touch people's hearts. I'm not a sentimental person, but every time I sing "Ben. There are always tears in my eyes." Bertha could hardly control her tongue, and retorted that sometimes she wanted to cry for herself--especially when he was out of tune.Everyone looked at her as if she was the one who did the wrong thing, and she smiled calmly at Edward, but he didn't respond.On the way home, she asked him if he knew why she ruined his singing. "I can't think of any reason, except that you were in a rough temper. I suppose you regret it now?" "Not at all. I think you were too rude to me before, and I want to punish you a little bit. You are too conceited sometimes. Besides, I hate the face you give me in public. Before we part completely, please Keep your reproaches in check." "I thought you could take a little good-natured teasing so far." "Oh, dear Edward, I can. Only, as you may have noticed, I'm quite good at protecting myself." "What do you mean by that?" "I mean, I can be scary if I like it. And you, better be sensible, so you don't look bad in public." Edward had never heard his wife threaten him so calmly, and he was a little shocked. But as a rule, Bertha swallowed the sarcasm that kept coming to his lips.The anger and resentment her husband had provoked in her was buried in her heart; she was content to be free of her love for him at last.Looking back, the shackles that bound her were extremely heavy.Though he didn't know it, stripping the idol's white-glazed robe, the crown, and the scepter gave her a sense of vengeance.After being naked, he is just a poor mortal.Edward was ignorant of all this.He is like a mental patient in a madhouse, ruling an imaginary kingdom.He did not see the curl of Bertha's lips, nor the contempt in her eyes, when he made a foolish remark.He found himself happier than he had been, given that she was far less unlovable than she had been.When Bertha began to dislike Edward, he began to enjoy marriage.A mean philosopher might draw didactic conclusions from it.He told himself that his wife's experiences overseas had worked out well and made her much more reasonable.Mr. Craddock's principles, of course, were quite correct; he let her go and let her run away, and ignored her neighing, and now she's gone home.There is nothing better than knowledge of the farm and the habits of domestic animals when it comes to wife control.